GABRIELLE   OF   THE   LAGOON 


c 


^GABRIELLE   OF 
THE    LAGOON 

A    ROMANCE    OF    THE    SOUTH    SEAS 


BY 
A.  SAFRONI-MIDDLETON 


AUTHOR  OF 
"SAILOR  AND  BEACHCOMBER' 


- 


PHILADELPHIA  AND  LONDON 

J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

1919 


roPTiiioiiT.    IOIO.  BT  ;.    B.   LJPP1SCOTT  COItFlHT 


* 


PRINTED   BY   J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

AT  THE  WASHINGTON  8QU  A  KB  PRESS 
PHILADKLFHIA,  D.  B.  A. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  pAQB 

PROLOGUE                   ....  7 

i.  ROMANCE'S  FIRST  THRILL           .            .  13 

II.   THE    CALL   OF   THE   BLOOD                .                 .  31 

in.  SOUTH  SEA  "OPERA  BOUFFE"  .     .  56 

IV.    THE   SOUL'S   RIVAL               ...  64 

V.  MUSIC  OF  ROMANCE            .                .                .  88 

VI.    TiSE    DERELICT        ....  101 

.  NVH 


vii.  NVHEN  THE  STARS  DANCED          .  .  119 

VIII.   HEATHEN   LAND    ....  131 

IX.   THE   HOMERIC   SPIRIT         .  .  .  162 

X.   THE  WINE-DARK   SEAS       .  .  .  182 

XI.   KIDNAPPED  ....  212 

XII.   IN   NEW   GUINEA  .  .  245 


626849 


PROLOGUE 

THOUGH  it  was  night  and  there  was  no  moon, 
a  dim,  weird  light  lay  over  the  isle  and  pierced 
to  the  depths  of  the  forests.  It  was  in  the 
Solomons,  where  the  dark,  picturesque  surroundings 
of  palm  and  reef,  the  noise  of  the  distant  surfs,  made 
a  suitable  setting  for  anything  unexpected.  Even  the 
silver  sea-birds  had  weird,  startled-looking  eyes  down 
Felisi  beach  way.  And  when  the  wild  brown  men 
crep'^-jjray  from  the  grave-side  of  one  whom  they  had 
just  buried  in  the  forest,  the  winds  sighed  a  fitting 
music  across  the  primeval  heights.  But  there  was 
nothing  strange  in  that;  men  must  die  wherever  one 
goes,  and  it  was  a  common  enough  occurrence  in  that 
heathen  land  where  the  ocean  boomed  on  the  one  side 
and  inland  to  the  south-west  stood  the  mountains, 
looking  like  mighty  monuments  erected  in  memory  of 
the  first  dark  ages.  Across  the  skies  of  Bougainville 
the  stars  had  been  marshalled  in  the  millions.  It 
seemed  a  veritable  heathen  faeryland  as  the  night 
echoed  a  hollow  "Tarabab!"  But  even  that  heathenish 
word  was  only  the  tribal  chief 's  yell  as  he  stood  under 
the  palms  conducting  the  semi-religious  tambu  cere- 
mony. The  tawny  maidens  and  high  chiefs,  with  their 
feather  head-dresses,  all  in  full  festival  costume, 
were  squatting  in  front  of  the  secret  tambu  stage, 
some  mumbling  prayer,  others  beating  their  hands 
together  as  an  accompaniment.  And  still  the  dusky 
tambu  dancer  moved  her  perfect  limbs  rhythmically 
to  the  rustling  of  her  sarong-like  attire,  swaying  first 

7 


8  PROLOGUE 

to  the  right  then  to  the  left  as  she  chanted  to  the 
wailings  of  the  bamboo  fifes  and  bone  flutes.  The 
orchestral-like  moan  of  the  huge  bread-fruits,  as 
odorous  drifts  of  hot  wind  swept  in  from  the  tropic 
seas,  seemed  to  murmur  in  complete  sympathy  with 
the  pretty  dancer.  One  might  easily  have  concluded 
that  Oom  Pa,  the  aged  high  priest,  was  the  "star  turn" 
of  the  evening  as  he  stood  there  enjoying  his  thoughts 
and  performing  magnificently  on  the  monster  tribal 
drum. 

There  was  something  fascinating  and  super-primi- 
tive about  the  whole  scene.  The  very  scents  from 
decaying  forest  frangipanni  and  hibiscus  blossoms 
seemed  to  drift  out  of  the  damp  gloom  of  the  dark,  J?ges. 
The  presence  of  civilisation  in  any  form  seemeu  tXo  re- 
motest of  possibilities.  Even  the  fore-and-aft  schooner, 
with  yellowish,  hanging  canvas  sails,  lying  at  anchor 
just  beyond  the  shore  lagoons,  looked  like  some  strange- 
rigged  craft  that  sailed  mysterious  seas. 

But  as  the  assembled  tribe  once  again  wildly 
clamoured  for  the  next  dancer  to  come  forward  and 
exhibit  her  charms,  a  murmur  of  surprise  rose  from 
the  back  rows  of  stalwart,  tattooed  chiefs — a  white  girl 
suddenly  ran  out  of  the  forest  and  jumped  on  to  the 
tambu  stage! 

One  aged  chiefess  who  was  busy  mumbling  her 
prayers  looked  up  and  gave  a  frightened  scream. 
Even  the  aged  philosophical  head-hunter  Ra-mai,  who 
had  one  hundred  and  eighty  skulls  hanging  to  his 
credit  in  his  palavana  hard  by,  gave  a  mellow  grunt, 
so  great  was  his  surprise.  A  white  girl,  lips  red  as 
coral,  hair  like  the  sunset's  gold,  standing  by  his  old 
pae  pae!  It  was  something  that  he  had  never  dreamed 
of.  The  tawny  maidens  squatting  beneath  the  coco-nut- 


PROLOGUE  9 

oil-lamp-lit  shades  on  the  right  of  the  buttressed 
banyans,  lifted  their  hands  in  astonishment.  For  a 
moment  the  white  girl  stood  perfectly  still.  All  eyes 
were  upon  her.  She  stared  vacantly  as  though  she 
were  in  a  trance.  Then  she  moved  forward  a  few  steps, 
her  feet  lightly  touching  the  forest  floor  as  if  she  were 
a  visionary  figure  veiled  in  moonlight.  Only  the 
sudden  renewal  of  the  wild  clamouring  and  guttural 
cries  of  "  0  la  Maramam  tambu,  papalaga!"  ("A  white 
girl  will  dance  before  us ! ")  seemed  to  rouse  her  to  her 
senses,  reminding  her  of  the  reason  she  had  responded 
to  the  swelling  chorus  of  tribal  drums. 

The  barbarian  musicians  had  begun  to  bang  and  blow 
on  tlvjr  flutes  in  an  inspired  way  as  they  urged  her 
to  danSo  *  Her  sudden  hesitation  was  very  evident  to 
every  onlooker.  And  as  she  stood  there  by  the  monster 
tambu  idol,  its  big  glass  eyes  agog  and  wooden  lips 
stretched  in  hideous  laughter,  she  had  a  strange, 
unearthly  beauty.  The  winds  sighed  in  the  palms; 
she  wavered  like  a  blown  spirit-girl  that  had  been 
suddenly  swept  out  of  the  night  of  stars  into  the  midst 
of  those  Pharaoh-like  chiefs.  Some  of  those  warriors 
watched  with  chin  on  hand,  others  stared  upon  her 
with  burning  eyes. 

Those  old  chiefs  and  their  women-kind  had  seen 
many  strange  sights  and  experienced  many  shocks 
since  German,  British,  Malayan,  Hindoo,  Chinese  and 
Dutch  settlers  had  set  foot  on  their  shores;  but  still 
they  were  quite  unprepared  for  the  sight  they  wit- 
nessed that  night.  The  handsome  Malayo-Polynesian 
half-castes  nudged  their  comrades  in  the  ribs  and  mur- 
mured the  native  equivalent  to  "What-o!"  To  their 
delight,  the  white  girl  had  mounted  the  pae  pae  and 
had  begun  to  dance  and  sing.  The  whole  tribe  watched 


10  PROLOGUE 

and  listened,  spellbound.  The  haunting  sweetness  of 
the  melody  seemed  to  bring  all  ears  under  its  influence. 
It  was  something  in  the  way  of  song  that  those  wild 
people  had  never  heard  before. 

Only  the  pretty  faded  blue  robe  falling  down  to  her 
brown-stockinged  ankles  and  the  long  tortoise-shell 
comb  stuck  in  the  rich  folds  of  her  golden-bronze  hair 
told  of  her  mortal  origin.  And  there  was  no  mistaking 
the  reality  of  that  indisputable  bang  on  the  heathen 
bandmaster's  drum.  That  dusky  virtuoso  wTas  cer- 
tainly inspired  by  human  passion. 

Ra-mai,  who  was  a  kind  of  religious  genius,  dropped 
his  festival  calabash  and  rubbed  his  eyes,  for  the  girl 
was  swaying  as  though  she  were  fastened  oj^o  the 
winds,  her  eyes  wide  open,  staring  upon  him.  *  The  old 
priestly  warrior  swore,  long  after,  that  she  was  a  spirit- 
maid  whom  he  had  loved  a  thousand  years,  ago,  and 
who  had  returned  that  night,  as  white  as  a  deep-sea 
pearl,  to  show  men  how  great  a  priest  and  warrior  he 
really  was.  But  he  was  a  poetical  old  fellow  and  had 
a  high  opinion  of  himself  where  female  beauty  and 
frailty  were  concerned.  But  if  there  was  an  element 
of  surprise  over  her  sudden  appearance  before  them, 
the  astonishment  of  these  natives  was  intensified  by  her 
dramatic  exit  from  their  midst.  Just  as  the  guttural 
cries  of  the  chiefs  and  the  weird  monotones  of  the 
chanting  tambu  maidens  had  caught  the  tempo  of  her 
dance,  she  gave  a  scream,  stood  perfectly  still  and 
stared  on  those  wild  men  with  a  terrified  look  in  her 
eyes.  Then,  before  anyone  could  realise  her  intentions, 
she  had  leapt  from  the  pae  pae,  had  run  away  into  the 
forest  and  vanished  like  a  wraith ! 

The  whole  tribal  assemblage  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes  in  astonishment.  Such  an  exhibition  of  red 


PROLOGUE  11 

betel-nut-stained  teeth  had  never  been  seen  in  a 
midnight  forest  festival  before,  for  they  all  stared 
open-mouthed. 

"Tabaran  [a  spirit]  from  shadow-land!"  said  one. 

''Not  so.  Didst  see  the  light  of  vanity  in  her  won- 
drous eyes  as  the  young  chiefs  praised  her  beauty?" 
said  another. 

"  'Tis  a  white  girl  suddenly  up-grown  and  full  of 
fever  for  love, ' '  said  an  old  chief  with  wise  wrinkles  on 
his  brow.  And  then  yet  another  said :  ' '  Had  it  been 
a  full-moon  sacred  festival,  'twould  have  been  well 
to  slay  her  for  such  boldness,  the  cursed  papalagi ! ' ' 

Then,  the  festival  broke  up.  And  that  night  the 
hand£r^j|'^  chiefs,  and  even  the  aged  priests,  tossed 
restlessly  on  their  bed-mats  as  they  lay  in  their  village 
huts  dreaming  of  a  goddess-like  creature  who  had 
flitted  through  their  tambu  ceremony  like  a  dream. 


GABRIELLE   OF 
THE    LAGOON 


ON  the  day  following  the  tribal  festival  when 
the  white  girl  had  so  astonished  the  heathen 
priests  in  the  village  called  Ackra-Ackra  a 
runaw;^  ship 's  apprentice  emerged  from  his  half-caste 
landlady's  wooden  lodging-house.  He  was  off  for  a 
stroll,  for  the  tenth  time  or  so,  over  the  slopes  that 
divided  the  banyan  forests  from  the  small  township  of 
Rokeville.  He  was  stagnating  and  so  had  little  else  to 
do  except  to  make  the  colour  of  the  picturesque  scenery 
harmonise  with  his  meditations.  He  was  a  tall,  hand- 
some fellow,  about  twenty  years  of  age.  His  brass- 
bound  suit  looked  decidedly  faded  by  the  hot  tropical 
sun,  and  the  flannel  collar  of  his  only  shirt  had  begun  to 
look  slightly  grimy.  All  the  same,  he  had  that  look  of 
refinement  which  is  inherited  from  good  ancestors.  A 
romantically  inclined  maid  would  have  thought  him 
extremely  attractive.  A  bronze-hued  lock  seemed  to 
ooze  from  beneath  the  rim  of  his  cheese-cutter  cap,  for 
when  funds  were  low  in  distant  lands,  and  scissors 
scarce  on  ships  at  sea,  his  hair  grew  quite  curly.  One  of 
his  eyes  was  a  deep  blue  and  the  other  a  golden-brown. 
This  eccentric  combination  of  colour  may  have  had 
something  to  do  with  the  romantic  adventures  that 
fell  to  his  lot  through  his  leaving  ship  in  Bougainville. 

13 


14  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

It  was  quite  three  weeks  since  he  had  made  a  bolt 
from  his  full-rigged  sailing-ship  in  the  harbour,  conse- 
quently his  cash  in  hand  had  seriously  diminished.  He 
had  already  become  terribly  sane  whilst  pondering  over 
the  natural  consequences  of  being  cashless. 

Hillary  L ,  for  that  was  his  name,  hated  planta- 
tion work  and  all  muscular  endeavours  that  did  not 
contain  some  element  of  romance.  But  still,  he  had  long 
since  realised,  through  his  many  adversities  at  the  end 
of  long  voyages,  that  wherever  one  goes  one  must  toil 
for  a  living,  however  romantic  the  scenery  may  appear. 

' '  Blasted  wicked  world  this !  Wish  white  men  could 
dress  like  the  natives  and  chew  nourishing  nuts  for  a 
living ! "  he  murmured,  as  he  thoughtfully  satflfc  ^d  the 
German  official  who  was  leaning  against  a  dead  screw- 
pine,  on  the  top  of  which  blew  the  Double  Eagle  flag. 

Hillary  was  no  fool;  he  could  always  be  polite  at 
the  right  time  and  place.  He'd  been  stranded,  with 
fourpence-halfpenny  or  so  in  his  possession,  in  about 
ten  islands  during  the  last  twelve  months,  and  he  knew 
that  if  things  got  to  the  worst  he  could  apply  to  the 
German  consul  for  a  free  passage  to  British  New 
Guinea  or  to  Samoa.  Hence  his  politeness.  He  was 
British  to  the  backbone,  and  as  the  Teutonic  official 
murmured  that  it  was  a  nice  day  Hillary  nodded  and 
then  lifted  a  cloud  of  the  finest  coral-dust  with  his  off- 
side boot.  He  could  hear  the  German  spluttering  and 
coughing  in  a  fearful  rage,  wondering  why  the  hot  wind 
had  suddenly  lifted  so  much  dust.  Hillary's  contempt 
for  anything  in  the  German  line  was  quite  unaffected. 
The  natives  whispered :  ' '  Germhony  mans  nicer  feller 
when  he  looker  one  way,  but  all-e-samee,  he  belonga 
debil  mans." 


ROMANCE'S  FIRST  THRILL  15 

The  young  apprentice  was  one  of  a  type  that  com- 
mercially was  not  worth  a  tinker's  dam.  If  he  were  a 
party  to  any  scheme  connected  with  finance,  one  could 
safely  predict  that  that  scheme  was  predestined  to 
complete  failure.  But  in  the  imaginative  world 
Hillary  could  be  pronounced  a  decided  success. 

It  was  the  same  wherever  lie  went.  The  old  sea- 
boots  on  the  shelf  of  the  seaport's  slop-shop  danced  a 
jig  on  some  ship  far  at  sea;  the  oilskins  swelled  to 
visionary  limbs  as  sailormen  opened  their  bearded 
mouths  and  climbed  aloft,  singing  the  chanteys  that  he 
could  distinctly  hear  as  he  placed  his  ear  to  the  shop 's 
dirty  TT  v-dow ! 

The  silk,  blue-fringed  chemise  hanging  on  a  nail  by 
the  oil  lamp  clung,  as  he  gazed,  to  the  limbs  of  some 
laughing  girl ;  fingers  travelling  down  the  yellow  keys 
of  the  second-hand  piano  mysteriously  strummed  out 
some  melody  that  told  of  the  briefness  of  life,  youth  and 
beauty.  This  poetical  weakness  was  a  veritable  Old 
Man  of  the  Sea  on  his  back.  But  still,  he  was  no  fool, 
and,  like  most  of  his  type,  he  could  be  strong  where 
most  men  are  weak. 

As  he  turned  round  and  looked  on  the  desolate  scene, 
and  stared  at  the  sunset  out  at  sea,  his  face  expressed 
an  emotion  that  words  cannot  describe.  The  parrots 
rose  in  a  glittering  cloud  as  he  stood  their  meditating, 
gazing  on  the  small  burial  ground  that  he  had  sud- 
denly stumbled  across.  It  was  where  a  few  white  men 
had  been  buried  on  the  lonely  beach-side,  miles  from  the 
township.  The  crosses  of  coral  stone  were  sunken  very 
deep,  the  names  nearly  oblitered.  "What  a  god- 
forsaken, tragic  place, ' '  he  muttered  as  he  read : 


16  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OP 

BILL  LARGO,  BOATSWAIN 

DIED  JUNE  3RD  1860 

SPEARED   BY  HEAD-HUNTERS  IN  TRYING  TO  SAVE  SHIP'S 
COOK — THIS  STONE  IS  RAISED  BY  THE  CREW 

OF  THE  s.s.  "SALAMANDER"  BOUND 

FOR  CALLAO 

Everything  seemed  tragic  in  those  parts.     For  as 
he  wandered  along  the  beach  a  voice  startled  him  as 
a  weird  face  suddenly  poked  out  of  the  mangroves : 
"Noice  even'ng,  matey?"  * 

"Yes,"  responded  the  apprentice  as  he  looked  into 
the  face  of  a  sun-tanned  remnant  of  a  white  man  who 
stood  by  a  fern-sheltered,  thatched  den.  It  was  only 
old  Adams,  an  ex-sailor,  leading  his  Mormon-like 
existence.  He  was  a  kind  of  Solomon  Island  aristocrat 
of  independent  means.  He  was  apparently  attired  in 
a  wide-brimmed  hat  and  beard  only,  for  the  climate 
is  muggy  in  the  Solomons.  He  did  wear  thin  cotton' 
pants,  but  they  were  so  drenched  with  perspiration 
that  they  clung  to  his  legs  like  a  skin.  He  borrowed 
a  shilling  from  the  apprentice,  shot  a  stream  of  tobacco 
juice  seaward,  then  entered  his  hut,  but  before  slam- 
ming the  door  behind  him  he  looked  back  and  said: 
"I'd  git  back  to  me  ship  if  I  was  you;  the  Kai-Kai 

chiefs  are  on  the  b taboo  lay  round  'ere,  and  they'd 

give  their  ears  for  that  curly  mop  of  yourn!"  The 
door  slammed.  Once  more  Hillary  was  alone.  As 
he  walked  away  he  could  distinctly  hear  old  Adams 
swearing  at  his  four  wives,  who  was  apparently  rushing 
round  the  hut  looking  for  his  clean  shirt.  They  were 


ROMANCE'S  FIRST  THRILL  17 

dusky  women,  probably  the  daughters  of  tribal  kings, 
and  had  given  their  birthrights  to  Adams  so  that  they 
could  be  the  wives  of  a  noble  papalagi.  Such  was  the 
queer,  mixed  population  of  that  solitary  locality  where 
the  apprentice  mooched  along.  And  Rokeville,  the 
shore  township,  was  not  much  more  dignified ;  but  what 
it  lacked  socially  was  amply  made  up  for  by  itsArabian- 
Nights-like  atmosphere.  Its  one  street,  a  silvery  track 
made  of  coral  dust,  went  winding  down  to  the  shore. 
And  when  the  full  moon  peered  over  the  ocean  rim, 
touching  with  dim  light  the  feathery  palms  that 
sheltered  the  tin  roofs  of  the  scattered  coral-built 
houses,  it  looked  like  some  staged  faery  town  of  a 
South  Sea  isle.  Often  by  night  some  strange-rigged 
ship  v>'<£[ld  hug  the  coast-line  for  hours  while  its  crew 
of  blackbirders  crept  ashore  and  kidnapped  native 
men  and  women  from,  the  villages.  Before  dawn  that 
stealthy  craft  had  sailed  away,  crammed  up  to  the 
hatches  with  cheap  labour  for  the  plantations  and 
heathen  seraglios  of  nowhere.  By  day  things  looked 
as  real  as  possible.  There  was  nothing  faery-like  about 
Parsons'  wooden  grog  shanty,  that  stood,  sheltered  by 
three  tall  palms,  at  the  head  of  the  township.  Through 
its  ever-open  doorway  by  day  and  night  passed  the 
German,  Scandinavian,  Norwegian  and  Yankee  shell- 
backs, who  drank  strong  rum  at  the  bar,  banged  their 
fists  and  narrated  their  Homeric  deeds.  That  shanty 
was  the  commercial  centre  and  stock  exchange  of 
Bougainville.  It  was  haunted  by  about  a  dozen  non- 
descript, aged  Chinese,  Dutch  and  Japanese  seamen 
who  wore  pigtails,  pointed  beards  or  scraggy  whiskers  : 
on  the  brightest  tropic  day  they  succeeded  in  adding 
a  touch  of  romance  to  the  shore  landscape,  for  when 
rum  was  scarce  they  leant  their  ragged  backs  against 
2 


18  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

the  palm  stems  and  looked  like  old  figure-heads  from 
Chinese  junks  and  Spanish  galleons  stuck  up  on  end, 
till  they  spoilt  the  picture  by  pulling  their  tangled 
beards  as  they  spat  seaward.  They  also  drank  rum 
and  existed,  apparently,  by  watching  the  white  sea- 
horses charge  the  purple-ridged  line  of  coral  reefs  that 
made  the  natural  pier  of  that  seaside  resort.  Con- 
sequently the  young  apprentice  preferred  the  wild 
scenery  of  the  mahogany  forests  and  the  blue  lagoons 
where  the  brown  maids  dived,  to  the  mixed  society  of 
that  delectable  township.  To  him  there  was  something 
fascinating,  almost  poetic,  about  the  mahogany-hued 
Papuans  and  Polynesians.  But  his  ideals  quite  saved 
him  from  falling  in  love  with  a  brown  maid.-  And  it 
must  be  confessed  that  the  Solomon  Isles  was  Hot  an 
Olympian  locality,  where  dwelt  cold,  passionless 
Hellenic  beauties,  and  many  a  dusky  Nausicaa  and 
luring  Circe  had  tempted  bold  sailormen  to  destruction 
by  their  songs  and  demonstrative  exhibitions  of  their 
charms.  But  some  of  the  maids  were  innocent  enough, 
for  as  Hillary  wandered  by  Felisi  beach  he  caught 
sight  of  a  tiny  Polynesian  baby  girl.  She  was  busy 
pulling  wild  flowers  that  grew  amongst  the  thick  tavu- 
grass.  Her  tiny  body  shone  with  a  hue  like  a  new 
Australian  sovereign  as  sunset  bathed  her  little  figure 
with  its  hot  light.  Her  alert,  savage  ears  heard  the 
apprentice 's  footsteps  in  the  scrub.  Just  for  a  moment 
her  thick  curls  tossed  and  sparkled  among  the  tall 
fern-grass  as  she  sped  away  into  the  forest  as  though 
she  quite  expected  a  white  man  to  shoot  her  at  sight ! 
"I  wonder  what  I'll  sight  next;  why,  it's  like  some 
fairy  spot, "  Hillary  murmured  as  he  watched  the  child 
disappear.  Then  he  climbed  over  the  reefs  till  he 


ROMANCE'S  FIRST  THRILL  19 

came  right  opposite  the  shore  islets,  where  the  natives 
swore  their  gods  danced  under  the  stars. 

At  this  spot  there  happened  to  be  a  wide  lagoon,  and 
on  the  still  waters,  just  where  the  mighty  banyans 
leaned  over  and  made  a  delightful  shade,  floated  a 
canoe.  "The  very  thing!"  Hillary  exclaimed.  In  a 
moment  he  was  paddling  about  on  the  lagoon  in  the 
small  primitive  craft.  Strange  birds  shrieked  over  his 
head,  their  crimson  and  blue  wings  flashing  along  as 
they  resented  his  intrusion  into  their  lovely  solitude. 
Some  had  eyes  like  sparkling  jewels  and  long,  hanging 
coral-red  legs  and  feet. 

"What  a  bit  of  luck !  I  could  paddle  about  here  for 
ever!"v#f$s  his  comment  as  he  swished  the  paddle, 
turned  the  prow  of  his  canoe  and  went  off  full  speed 
down  the  narrow  creek-like  passage  that  led  to  the 
wider  stretch  of  water  inland.  "It's  like  being  alone 
on  an  uninhabited  island,"  he  thought.  Suddenly  a 
hush  came  over  the  waters.  Only  the  solitary  "Kai 
koo-seeeek!"  of  a  parakeet  disturbed  the  silence.  So 
still  was  the  water  of  the  lagoon  that  he  seemed  to 
float  about  on  a  mighty  mirror.  The  huge  buttressed 
banyans  reflected  in  the  deep,  clear  water  by  the  banks 
hung  upside  down,  twisted  shapes  in  an  abyss  of  blue. 
He  could  even  discern  the  flock  of  shrieking,  sky- 
winging  lories  as  their  images  went  wheeling  silently 
over  the  wooded  heights,  so  clearly  was  the  forest 
fringe  reflected  in  the  depths. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  gasped,  as  he  stared  on  that 
shadow- world ;  and  no  wonder,  for  on  the  rim  of  the 
hanging  cloud,  high  over  the  leaning  trees  of  the 
reflected  sky,  sped  an  ornamental  canoe!  Its  paddle 
was  swiftly  curling,  like  a  fast-flying  bird's  wing. 
He  nearly  upset  his  small  craft,  so  great  was  his 


20  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

astonishment,  for,  looking  towards  the  bend  where  the 
banyans  hid  the  expanse  of  inland  water  from  view, 
he  saw  that  the  reflected  figure  in  the  canoe  was  real. 

It  wasn't  the  canoe  but  the  paddler  that  made  him 
exclaim.  "It  can't  be  an  apparition  with  those  hibiscus 
blossoms  stuck  in  her  hair, ' '  he  thought  as  he  rubbed 
his  eyes  and  stared  again.  The  blue  robe,  open  low 
at  the  neck,  was  the  apprentice's  only  excuse  for  his 
ridiculous  idea  in  thinking  that  a  beautiful  princess 
of  some  unknown  white  race  had  suddenly  appeared 
on  the  lagoon.  She  softly  dipped  her  paddle  and, 
shattering  the  blue  sky  and  twisted  boughs  with  one 
blow,  came  speeding  towards  him ! 

"Am  I  awake?"  he  muttered.  She  had  ^^ed  her 
paddle,  welcoming  his  presence  as  though  she  had 
known  him  for  years.  At  first  he  hesitated,  thinking 
that  one  word,  one  sign  of  recognition  from  him  would 
make  her  vanish  back  into  her  native  skies.  But  at 
length  he  too  lifted  his  paddle  and  waved  most 
enthusiastically ! 

As  Hillary  came  closer  he  saw  that  there  was  sorrow 
in  the  girl's  blue  eyes,  as  needs  there  must  be,  since 
Beauty  is  Sorrow's  legitimate  child.  A  far-off  gleam 
shone  in  them  and  glinted  in  her  hair,  which  tumbled 
down  to  the  warm  white  curves  of  her  neck  and  round 
to  her  throat. 

It  was  the  pretty  retrousse  nose  that  looked  so 
human. 

Hillary  took  a  deep  breath  and  gazed  again. 

"Fancy  meeting  you  here!"  he  said  as  in  his  em- 
barrassment he  pulled  his  dirty  kerchief  out  of  his 
pocket  and  wiped  his  face  to  hide  his  confusion ;  then, 
remembering,  he  hastily  replaced  the  rag-like  kerchief 
in  his  pocket. 


ROMANCE'S  FIRST  THRILL  21 

"Fancy  meeting  you!"  said  the  girl  as  she  gave  a 
silvery  peal  of  laughter. 

The  young  apprentice's  heart  began  to  thump.  He 
stared  into  the  girl's  eyes  as  though  she  had  mesmerised 
him,  A  wild  desire  thrilled  his  soul  as  she  leaned 
forward,  still  paddling  softly  as  she  returned  his 
gaze. 

"Do  you  live  here? — out  here  in  the  South  Seas?" 
he  murmured  as  he  almost  dropped  his  cheese-cutter 
midshipman's  cap  into  the  water. 

"Of  course  I  do!  Do  you  think  I  live  up  in  the 
sky?" 

"Shouldn't  be  surprised  if  you  did,"  he  responded, 
gainirx^ciis  nerve.  Then  he  told  the  girl  that  he 
thought  she  might  have  been  a  princess  migrating  or 
on  tour  in  one  of  the  intermediate  steamers. 

The  girl  stared  at  hearing  this  sally.  The  look  that 
came  into  her  eyes  made  the  apprentice  understand  the 
cause  of  the  girl's  apparently  bold  familiarity.  She 
was  quite  unworldly.  She  seemed  to  read  his  thoughts, 
for  she  ceased  paddling  and,  looking  almost  seriously 
into  his  face,  said :  "  I  'm  Gabrielle  Everard.  I  've  lived 
in  these  islands  with  Dad  since  I  was  a  child.  Dad 
took  me  away  to  Ysabel  and  Gualdacanar  about  a 
year  ago." 

"Did  he  really?"  said  Hillary  as  he  metaphorically 
nudged  himself  to  find  her  so  pleasant  and  confidential. 

"Mother  dead?"  he  murmured  as  the  sea- wind 
drifted  across  the  waters,  sighed  in  the  shore  banyans 
and  blew  the  girl's  tresses  about  her  throat. 

"Mother's  dead,  of  course !  Always  has  been  so  far 
as  I  can  remember,"  she  responded,  looking  into  the 
young  man's  face  intently,  wondering  why  on  earth 


22  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

his  voice  should  sound  so  tender  and  concerned  when 
he  asked  about  her  long-dead  parent. 

They  paddled  side  by  side.  The  strange  girl's  eyes 
had  done  a  grievous  thing  to  Hillary's  soul.  The 
feathery  palms  and  old  trees,  catching  the  sea-winds, 
seemed  to  whisper  cherished  things  of  romance  and 
long-forgotten  lover  to  his  ears.  It  took  him  that  way 
because  he  was  an  amateur  musician. 

"What  a  beautiful  voice  you've  got!"  said  he,  as 
she  dipped  her  paddle  in  perfect  tempo  to  some  wild 
melody  that  she  sang  in  a  minor  key. 

"Have  I?  Why,  Dad  says  I've  got  a  voice  like  a 
cockatoo !"  she  responded  merrily. 

"The  wicked,  unmusical  old  bounder !" -fLfid  the 
apprentice ;  then  he  swiftly  apologised. 

' '  Oh,  you  needn  't  be  so  sorry  that  you  've  said  that. 
I  don 't  care  a  cuss ! ' ' 

Once  more  Hillary  metaphorically  rubbed  his  hands. 
"Jove!  What  an  original,  fascinating  creature  the 
girl  is,  to  be  sure, ' '  was  his  secret  comment.  Had  the 
young  apprentice  known  that  the  girl  before  him  had 
danced  on  a  heathen  pae  pae  (stage)  and  sang  before 
those  cannibalistic  tribal  warriors  the  night  before,  he 
would  most  probably  have  been  more  fascinated  by  her 
presence  than  ever ! 

"Gabrielle!  Gabrielle!  What  a  name!  Beautiful!" 
he  murmured  to  himself  as  the  girl  dipped  the  paddle 
and  sang  on.  By  now;they  had  arrived  near  the  sandy 
shore  of  the  inland  lagoon. 

"Must  you  go?"  he  said. 

"Well,  yes;  but  I  can  easily  see  you  again,  can't 

I?"  Hillary  L made  no  articulate  response. 

"And  this  is  the  Solomon  Isles,  remote  from  civilisa- 


ROMANCE'S  FIRST  THRILL  23 

tion,  far  away  in  the  cannibalistic  South  Seas!"  he 
murmured  deep  within  his  happy  soul. 

But  mad  as  Hillary  was,  he  half  realised  that  the 
girl  before  him  was  more  of  a  child  than  a  woman. 
She  laughed,  even  giggled  a  little,  like  a  happy  child. 
Only  five  years  had  passed  since  she  had  played  with 
the  native  kiddies,  who  many  times  had  persuaded 
her  to  dance  and  sing  their  heathen  songs  as  they  pre- 
tended to  be  heathen  chiefs  and  chiefesses  performing 
on  a  toy  pae  pae.  She  had  revelled  in  those  dances. 
But  no  one  would  have  dreamed  by  looking  at  her  that 
she  was  not  a  pure-blooded  white  girl.  Her  father 
had  married  a  beautiful  three-quarter  caste  girl  in 
Honol^u,  so  Gabrielle  had  a  strain  of  dark  blood  in 
her  veins ! 

The  young  apprentice  couldn't  fathom  the  look  in 
her  eyes  as  he  stared.  Passion  was  just  awakening  in 
her  soul,  stealing  like  a  tropical  sunrise  over  the  hills 
of  childhood.  To  him  she  appeared  like  some  spirit- 
creation  that  might  at  any  moment  take  wings  and 
fly  away;  so  when  she  turned  the  prow  of  her  canoe 
dead  on  to  the  soft  sand  and  jumped  ashore,  he  made 
a  frantic  dash  and  jumped,  landing  just  behind  her. 
He  was  determined  to  know  when  and  where  she  would 
meet  him  again.  But  he  had  no  need  to  fear ;  she  did 
not  fly  away.  She  simply  tied  her  canoe  to  a  bamboo 
stem  and,  turning  round,  looked  him  full  in  the  face 
with  those  glorious  eyes  that  were  to  be  for  him  two 
Stars  of  the  first  magnitude.  Then  she  placed  her 
fingers  in  the  folds  of  her  hair  and  taking  out  one  of 
the  hibiscus  blossoms,  handed  it  to  him,  much  to  his 
surprise.  He  realised  that  it  was  more  the  act  of  a 
child  than  a  woman  of  the  world. 

"I've  read  in  books  that  girls  give  men  flowers  that 


24  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

have  been  fastened  in  their  hair,"  she  said.  This 
remark  and  act  of  the  girl 's,  and  the  look  in  her  eyes, 
had  a  strange  effect  on  Hillary's  susceptible  mind. 
He  almost  felt  the  tears  well  into  his  eyes.  It  was  all 
so  unexpected,  and  told  him  in  some  great  poetry  of 
silence  what  the  girl's  heart  was  made  of,  the  utter 
loneliness  of  her  existence  and  the  way  her  childish 
dreams  were  flowing  out  to  the  great  realities  of  life. 
He  placed  the  flower  in  his  buttonhole,  then  gazed  on 
the  girl  as  only  an  infatuated  youth  can  gaze,  and  said : 
"Will  you  meet  me  here  again,  by  this  lagoon?  Any 
day  and  time  will  do  for  me. ' ' 

"I'm  sure  to  be  this  way  again,"  she  said,  and  be- 
fore the  young  apprentice  could  stop  her  sfej  had 
flitted  away  under  the  coco-palms. 

Before  she  got  out  of  sight  she  turned  and  waved 
her  hand.  In  his  excitement  he  responded  by  waving 
his  cap.  Then  she  disappeared  under  the  thick  belt 
of  dark  mangroves  by  the  swamp  track  that  led  inland 
in  the  direction  of  her  father's  bungalow. 

"What  a  girl!"  That  was  the  only  audible  com- 
ment he  made  as  the  girl  went  out  of  sight.  And  where 
did  she  go?  She  ran  away  over  the  slopes  that  lay 
just  behind  the  township  of  Eokeville,  back  to  her  home 
and  her  trader  father. 

Old  Everard,  her  parent,  was  a  kind  of  freak  too. 
He  was  a  tall,  clean-shaved,  thin -faced  man,  with  blue- 
grey  eyes  and  a  beaked  nose;  his  mouth  had  a  mel- 
ancholy droop  about  it;  the  face  in  repose  looked 
strong  at  times,  but  when  he  grinned  and  revealed  his 
tobacco-blackened  teeth  it  looked  characterless,  almost 
weak.  At  times  he  was  extremely  garrulous,  at  other 
times  either  reticent  or  insulting  to  anyone  who  might 
be  unfortunate  enough  to  come  near  him.  Gabrielle 


ROMANCE'S  FIRST  THRILL  25 

seemed  to  be  the  only  person  in  Bougainville  who  under- 
stood him.  He  didn  't  take  much  interest  in  his  daugh- 
ter, though  she  might  have  done  so  in  him.  All  he  did 
was  religiously  to  exercise  his  parental  control  by  send- 
ing the  girl  on  his  selfish  errands,  mostly  for  rum  and 
whisky.  At  other  times  he  demanded  that  she  should 
attend  to  his  comforts  when  delirium  tremens  shook 
his  spine.  He  was  an  ex-sailor.  Falling  from  the  main- 
yard  of  his  ship  whilst  anchored  off  the  Solomon 
Group,  he  had  lost  a  leg,  and  during  his  convalescence 
in  Honolulu  had  married,  finally  settling  down  in 
Bougainville. 

His  homestead  was  a  three-roomed  bungalow,  and  he 
kept  tli&igs  going  by  the  money  he  had  saved  during 
his  seafaring  life;  he  was  also  interested  in  copra 
plantations  at  Bougainville  and  at  Ysabel.  His  tem- 
perament was  choleric.  He  was  known  in  the  vicinity 
by  the  nickname  "  Shiver-me-timbers. "  This  cogno- 
men was  derived  from  the  fact  that  he  always  stamped 
his  wooden  leg,  making  it  shiver  in  his  impatience, 
when  he  wanted  a  drink,  consequently  his  wooden  leg 
was  never  at  rest.  He  looked  like  some  wooden-legged 
Nemesis  as  he  sat  there  that  evening;  and  if  any 
glamour  still  lingered  in  Gabrielle's  brain  from  her 
chance  meeting  with  the  young  apprentice,  it  was 
swiftly  dispelled  by  the  stumping  of  that  wooden 
member  as  she  rushed  indoors. 

Even  a  wooden  leg  would  seem  to  have  its  part  to 
play  in  the  universe :  there  was  something  imperative 
about  its  tapping  voice.  That  fate-like  tapping  had 
smashed  up  many  of  Gabrielle's  young  dreams;  pos- 
sibly that  wooden  leg  was  a  soulless  agent  of  the  devil. 

"Here's  the  whisky,  Dad,"  said  she,  as  the  cockatoo 


26  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

looked  down  from  its  perch  and  shrieked :  ' '  Gabby-ell ! 
Gabby-ell!  Kai-kai-too ! " 

In  a  moment  that  weird  symbol  in  wood,  that  repre- 
sented all  that  was  unromantic  to  her  ardent  soul, 
ceased  its  ominous  "tip-e-te- tap-tap"  as  the  old  sailor 
looked  up  and  spied  his  daughter. 

"Thankee,  thankee,  kid!"  he  growled  as  he  put 
forth  his  hand.  Such  was  the  domestic  atmosphere 
that  the  girl  had  rushed  back  to. 

After  the  young  apprentice  had  waved  his  farewell 
to  Gabrielle  he  strolled  away  under  the  palms.  "Well, 
she's  a  beautiful  creature.  Who'd  have  thought  of 
meeting  her  in  this  wild  place?  She's  ethereal,  too 
beautiful  to  make  love  to,"  he  sighed. 

Possibly  the  contrast  between  Gabrielle  Everard 
and  the  Solomon  Island  mop-headed  girls  etherealised 
her  natural  beauty  in  his  eyes.  This  was  a  fatal  out- 
look for  Hillary,  considering  the  girl's  impulsive 
nature  and  his  chances  in  the  love  affair  that  he  had 
unknowingly  embarked  upon.  And  possibly  this  out- 
look of  his  was  the  result  of  outward  glamour  having 
greatly  influenced  his  indwelling  life.  He  had  suc- 
ceeded in  making  himself  the  more  unfitted  to  cope 
with  his  immediate  surroundings  by  poring  over  such 
writers  as  Tolstoy,  Walt  Whitman,  Rousseau  and 
Kuskin.  But  still,  these  writers,  with  their  mad  denun- 
ciations and  rhapsodies,  had  helped  to  awaken  in 
Hillary's  soul  that  adoration  for  the  beautiful,  that 
love  for  living  art  that  nourishes  a  delight  in  God's 
work.  The  young  apprentice  did  not  digest  the  whole 
contents  of  those  volumes;  he  was  too  young  to  grasp 
their  full  meaning,  but  his  mind  had  grasped  enough  to 
make  him  a  kind  of  derelict  missionary  of  the  beautiful. 
When  the  moods  came  to  him  he  would  bury  his  nose  in 


ROMANCE'S  FIRST  THRILL  27 

the  pages  of  Byron,  Shelley,  Keats,  etc.  And  the  in- 
fluence gathered  from  those  poets  possibly  filled  his 
head  with  vague  imaginings  over  beauty  and  innocence, 
feeding  the  fires  of  wild  aspiration  that  cannot  be  real- 
ised in  this  world,  and  were  never  realised  and  acted 
up  to  by  the  poets  who  wrote  the  poems. 

As  he  walked  on  thoughts  of  the  strange  girl  on  the 
lagoon  would  haunt  his  brain.  He  had  quite  made 
up  his  mind  to  secure  a  berth  on  the  sailing-ship  that 
was  leaving  for  New  South  Wales  in  a  few  days,  but 
Gabrielle  Everard's  eyes  seemed  to  have  magically 
changed  the  future  for  him. 

It  was  almost  with  relief  that  he  gave  his  arm  to  the 
drunkep  shellback  who  suddenly  appeared  from  no- 
where, struck  him  on  the  back  and  spat  a  stream  of 
tobacco  juice  across  Hillary 's  poetic  vision,  taking  him 
completely  away  from  himself.  Then  the  shellback 
faded  away,  went  off  shouting  some  wild  sea  chantey 
as  he  rolled  over  the  slopes,  bound  for  the  sailor's 
Morning  and  Evening  Star — the  distant  light  of  Par- 
sons's  grog  shanty.  It  was  getting  dark.  That  night 
Hillary  seemed  inspired.  He  sat  outside  the  wooden 
building  where  he  lodged  and  played  his  violin  to  the 
shellback,  traders  and  natives  who  came  over  the  slopes 
to  listen.  Mango  Pango,  the  pretty  Polynesian  ser- 
vant, grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  showing  her  pearly 
teeth,  as  she  danced  beneath  the  palms  that  grew  right 
up  to  the  verandah  of  his  landlady 's  homestead.  Even 
the  congregated  sailormen  ceased  their  unmelodious 
oaths  as  they  pulled  their  beards  and  listened  to  his 
playing. 

Hillary  wasn't  a  master  on  the  violin;  his  career 
had  been  too  erratic  for  him  to  get  the  necessary  prac- 
tice to  accomplish  great  things  in  instrumental  play- 


28  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

ing.  But  still  he  could  perform  the!  Poet  and  Peasant 
overture  and  most  of  the  stock  pieces,  besides  playing 
heathen  melodies  that  sent  the  natives  into  ecstasies  of 
delight.  His  sailor  critics  swore  that  his  extemporised 
sea-jigs  were  the  most  classical  of  compositions  that 
they  had  ever  heard.  For  when  he  played  the  South 
Sea  maids  threw  their  limbs  about  in  rhythmical 
swerves,  till  the  soles  of  their  pretty  bare  feet  some- 
times seemed  turned  toward  the  South  Sea  moon! 
Mango  Pango,  Marga  Maroo  and  Topsy  Turvy  were 
dancing  to  their  heart's  content  as  the  hills  re-echoed 
the  shellbacks'  laughter  and  the  wild  chorus  of  0,  For 
Rio  Grande  when  the  concert  was  disturbed.  For  not- 
withstanding the  wild  surroundings,  the  hilarity  and 
awful  oaths,  piety  roamed  those  savage  isles. 

As  the  strains  of  the  Poet  and  Peasant  overture 
trembled  from  Hillary's  violin  a  tall,  handsome  sav- 
age, attired  in  European  clothes,  stepped  out  from  be- 
neath the  palms  and  complimented  the  young  English- 
man on  his  artistic  performance  ?  He  was  an  educated 
savage,  and  naturally  conducted  himself  in  public 
just  as  a  late  missionary  from  the  North- West  Mission 
School  at  Honolulu  should  do.  He  was  certainly  an 
attractive-looking  being,  possibly  through  his  mother 
being  a  Papuan  and  his  father  a  handsome  Malayan. 
Even  the  shellbacks  pulled  their  whiskers  and  beards, 
and  put  on  their  best  behaviour  as  he  stood  there  and 
spoke  as  becomes  a  Rajah  and  late  missionary  who 
has  "saved"  thousands  of  souls;  for  he  studied  the 
philosophy  of  the  Psalms  so  that  they  might  fit  in  with 
his  views.  And  it  might  be  mentioned  at  once  that 
he  did  not  allow  idealistic  views  to  disturb  the  nice 
equilibrium  of  his  earthly  requirements.  When  he  was 
excited  his  speech  lapsed  into  the  native  pidgin-Eng- 


ROMANCE'S  FIRST  THRILL  29 

lish.  But  lie  spoke  perfectly  as  he  addressed  Hillary, 
saying:  "You  play  exceedingly  well,  young  man,  and 
your  rendering  of  Spohr's  concerto  strikes  me  as 
superb.  For  perfect  intonation  and  verve  your  per- 
formance outrivals  the  rendering  by  Monsieur  De 

T ,  whom  I  heard  play  it  at  the  Tivoli,  Honolulu. ' ' 

So  spake  the  civilised  heathen. 

"  'Ark  at  'im!  an  ole  kanaka  missionary!"  whis- 
pered Bunky  Lory,  the  ordinary  seaman. 

"  'Andsome  cove  with  his  whiskers  on,"  said  an- 
other, a  Cockney. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Rajah  Koo  Macka  was  a 
handsome  type  of  man  so  far  as  the  world's  idea  of 
what's  handsome  goes.  He  wore  a  fine  moustache 
curled  artistically  at  the  ends;  had  fine  teeth,  ivory- 
white;  and  full,  sensual,  curved  lips  that  were  not  a 
libel  on  his  character.  But  his  greatest  asset  was  his 
magnetic,  telescope-like  eyes  that  could  sight  a  sinfully 
inclined  girl  or  woman  miles  off!  Indeed  he  was  a 
splendid  example  of  a  christianised  heathen  doing  his 
best  to  be  religious  notwithstanding  his  inherently  an- 
tagonistic principles.  He  had  plenty  of  cash ;  he  owned 
two  or  three  schooners,  and  received  a  Government 
bounty  for  hunting  down  the  white  miscreants,  those 
skippers  who  indulged  in  all  the  horrors  of  the  black- 
birding  slave  traffic.  He  wore  three  medals  on  his 
ample  breast,  and  besides  the  aforementioned  bounty 
received  a  pension  from  some  missionary  society  in 
London  which  had  heard  of  his  self-sacrifice  whilst 
converting  his  heathen  brothers  from  cannibalistic  orgy 
and  lust.  And  more,  it  was  discovered,  after  many 
days,  that  he  was  a  good  and  dutiful  son  to  his  old 
father  Bapa,  who  still  dwelt  in  the  Rajah's  native  vil- 
lage in  far-away  Tumba-Tumba,  on  the  wild,  God-for- 


30  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

saken  coast  of  New  Guinea.  Such  is  a  rough  summary 
of  the  Rajah  Koo  Macka,  whose  ways  were  mysterious, 
more  so  than  the  wily  Chinee !  And  though  dead  men 
may  turn  in  their  graves  over  the  doings  of  men  on 
earth,  the  apprentice  only  pulled  the  end  of  his  virgin 
moustache,  no  prophetic  breath  of  all  that  was  destined 
to  happen  disturbing  his  equanimity. 


THE  day  after  the  young  apprentice  had  played 
his  violin  to  the  shellbacks  and  listened  to  the 
Papuan  Rajah's  eulogies  over  his  playing,  old 
Everard  was  sitting  in  his  bungalow  swearing  like  the 
much-maligned  trooper.  He  was  holding  out  his 
gouty  foot  whilst  his  daughter  poured  cool  water 
upon  it. 

' '  What  the  devil  are  yer  doing  ? "  he  yelled,  as  the 
girl,  who  had  done  exactly  as  she  had  been  told  to  do, 
stood  half -paralysed  with  fear  over  her  parent's  out- 
burst. Then  the  ex-sailor  picked  the  ointment  pot  up 
and  rubbed  the  swollen  foot  himself.  As  Gabrielle 
looked  on  and  mentally  thanked  her  Maker  that  her 
father  had  only  one  foot,  he  finished  up  by  grabbing  a 
chair  and  pitching  it  across  the  room,  careless  as  to 
what  it  might  hit.  A  fierce  look  came  into  the  girl's 
eyes,  her  face  was  hotly  flushed.  For  a  moment  the 
old  man  opened  his  mouth  in  surprise,  really  thinking 
she  meant  to  hurl  the  chair  back  at  him.  She  looked 
for  a  moment  like  a  beautiful  young  savage.  Then 
she  turned  and  rushed  from  the  bungalow. 

"Come  back,  you  blasted  little  heathen!"  roared 
old  Everard  as  he  stood  up  on  his  wooden  leg ;  then  he 
gave  a  fearful  howl  as  his  gouty  foot  gave  him  another 
twinge.  His  face  was  purple  with  passion.  "Ill 

break  her  b neck  when  she  comes  back,  I  will. 

She's  like  her  mother,  that's  what  she  is." 

The  ex-sailor's  wild  sayings  meant  nothing.  He  had 

31 


32  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

been  genuinely  fond  of  his  wife.  Like  most  men  who 
have  choleric  tempers,  his  hot  words  had  no  relation  to 
his  true  feelings.  Gabrielle's  mother  had  been  dead 
for  many  years.  Although  she  had  dark  blood  in  her 
veins,  she  had  been  a  very  beautiful  woman.  Indeed 
an  eerie  kind  of  beauty  seems  to  be  the  natural  heritage 
of  women  who  are  remotely  descended  from  a  mixture 
of  the  dark  and  white  races.  And  this  striking  beauty 
is  most  noticeable  in  those  half-castes  who  are  de- 
scended from  the  Malayan  types,  a  superstitious  people, 
of  wild,  poetic,  passionate  temperament.  There  was 
some  mystery  concerning  Gabrielle's  mother:  she  had 
flown  from  Haiti  to  Honolulu  in  some  great  fear. 
Everard  had  met  her  because  it  was  on  his  ship  that 
she  had  stowed  away ;  but  she  had  never  divulged  the 
cause  of  her  flight  from  the  land  where  she  had  been 
born.  All  that  Gabrielle  knew  was  that  her  mother's 
photograph  hung  on  her  bedroom  wall,  a  sad,  beautiful 
face  that  gave  no  hint  of  her  dark  ancestry.  Gabrielle 
had  been  the  tiny  guest  who  had  unconsciously  caased 
her  natural  host  to  depart  from  this  life — for  her 
mother  had  died  during  confinement.  Gabrielle  Ever- 
ard felt  that  loss  as  she  walked  beneath  the  palms ;  but, 
still,  she  felt  glad  that  her  father's  violence  had  in- 
spired her  with  sufficient  courage  to  beat  a  hasty  re- 
treat, careless  of  the  parental  wrath  when  she  at  length 
returned  home  again.  " Perhaps  he'll  be  so  full  of 
rum  when  I  get  back  that  he'll  have  forgotten,"  was 
her  sanguine  reflection.  Then  she  pulled  her  pretty, 
washed-out  blue  robe  tight  with  the  sash,  and  mur- 
mured : ' '  The  old  devil !  Good  job  if  he  pegged  out ! ' ' 
As  the  girl's  temper  subsided  the  savage  look  on  her 
face  faded  away.  Like  a  gleam  of  sunrise  across  the 
lagoona  at  dawn,  the  laughing  expression  of  her  blue 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD  33 

eyes  slowly  returned.  The  firm  resolve  of  the  lips  also 
disappeared.  Her  mouth  was  again  a  rosebud  of  the 
warm,  impassioned  South,  a  mouth  that  easily  claimed 
twinship  with  the  beauty  of  the  luring  eyes,  which 
looked  warm  with  desire  as  the  lips  themselves.  She 
wore  her  loose  blouse  very  low  at  the  neck,  so  low 
that  the  sun  had  delicately  touched  the  curve  of  her 
breast.  But  she  was  only  an  undeveloped  woman  as  yet. 
Her  ideas  of  the  great  world  were  vague  and  shadowy. 
She  knew  little  of  what  lay  beyond  her  own  surround- 
ings, of  men 's  ways,  the  terror  of  cities,  human  frailty, 
and  the  force  and  passion  of  human  tragedies.  All  the 
ribaldry,  the  hints  thrust  upon  her  by  the  rough  sailors 
since  she  had  entered  her  teens,  had  been  quite  lost 
on  her  undeveloped  mind.  Her  whole  idea  of  life  and 
its  mysteries  had  come  to  her  out  of  a  few  old  books. 
They  were  books  that  had  been  left  at  her  father's 
homestead  by  a  ship's  captain  when  Gabrielle  was  a 
child.  This  captain 's  ship  had  gone  ashore  in  a  typhoon 
off  Bougainville,  and  its  wreck  could  still  be  seen  lying 
on  the  barrier  reefs  about  a  mile  from  the  shore. 

Who  could  foresee  the  wondrous  potentialities  that 
lay  within  the  pages  of  those  books  which  the  old 
skipper  had  carelessly  thrown  aside? — what  dreams 
they  would  some  day  awaken  in  a  girl's  heart,  giving 
her  strength  to  combat  the  desires  that  came  with 
volcanic-like  force  on  the  threshold  of  womanhood? 
For,  true  enough,  the  heroes  and  heroines  of  those  old 
books  mysteriously  leapt  from  the  thumb-torn,  yellow 
pages  and  seemed  to  struggle  in  their  effort  to  help  her 
regain  her  better  self. 

One  book  was  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress;  another, 
Christina  Rossetti's  poems;  The  Arabian  Nights  and 
Hans  Andersen's  fairy  tales.  That  old  captain  (he 
s 


34  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

must  have  been  old  by  the  dates  in  the  books)  had 
brought  many  valuable  cargoes  across  the  world,  but 
he  dreamed  not  that  his  most  wonderful  cargo  was  the 
magic  in  the  books  that  he  was  destined  one  day  to 
leave  behind  him  in  the  Solomon  Isles ! 

To  a  great  extent  old  Everard's  daughter  was  the 
embodiment  of  the  principles  and  idealisms  that  were 
in  those  faded  volumes:  in  her  imagination  Bunyan 
stood  there  beneath  the  palms,  seeing  God  in  those 
tropic  skies;  Hans  Andersen  drank  in  the  mystery 
of  sunset  on  the  mountains,  and  Christina  Eossetti 
laid  a  visionary  hand  on  the  tiny,  shaggy  heads  of  the 
native  children  who  had  rushed  from  the  forest's 
depths  and  had  started  gambolling  at  Gabrielle's  feet. 
She  hastened  on.  "Awaie!"  she  cried  to  the  dusky 
little  creatures,  who  looked  up  at  her  in  a  bewildered 
way,  as  though  they  had  seen  a  ghost.  ' '  Ma  Soo ! ' '  they 
wailed,  as  they  sped  away,  frightened,  into  the  shadows 
of  the  forest.  A  wild  desire  entered  Gabrielle's  heart; 
she  half  bounded  forward,  as  though  to  rush  after  those 
tiny  forest  ragamuffins.  She  felt  like  casting  aside 
her  civilised  attire,  so  that  she  too  might  race  off, 
untrammelled,  into  those  happy  leafy  glooms.  The 
cry  of  the  yellow-crested  cockatoo,  the  deep  moaning 
of  the  bronze  pigeons  and  iris  doves  in  the  bread-fruits 
seemed  to  feed  her  soul  with  unfathomable  music. 
As  she  passed  by  a  lagoon  she  saw  her  reflection  in  the 
still  depths.  The  dark-toning  water  made  her  appear 
almost  swarthy;  her  bronze-gold  hair  looked  quite 
black.  It  was  only  a  momentary  glance,  but  that 
glimpse  was  enough  to  strike  a  wild  feeling  of  terror 
into  her  heart,  reminding  her  that  she  was  connected 
by  blood  to  the  dark  races. 

At  that  thought  her  heart  trembled :  to  her  it  was 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD  35 

as  though.  God  had  suddenly  thumped  it  in  some 
inscrutable  spite.  In  a  moment  she  had  recovered. 
The  strange  dread  of  she  knew  not  what  vanished. 
Once  more  she  gave  a  peal  of  silvery  laughter,  and  even 
went  so  far  as  to  wave  her  hand  to  the  crowd  of  dark, 
handsome  native  men  who  were  hurrying  by  on  their 
way  back  from  the  plantations. 

As  she  meandered  along  she  began  to  think  over  all 
that  had  happened  on  the  festival  night  when  she  had 
suddenly  felt  that  strange  impulse  and  astonished  the 
natives  by  jumping  on  to  the  festival  pae  pae  and 
dancing  before  them  all.  She  rubbed  her  eyes.  "I 
can't  think  that  I  really  did  such  a  thing;  I  feel  sure 
it  must  have  been  a  dream."  Then  she  remembered 
that  her  gown  was  torn  and  one  of  her  slippers  lost 
when  she  had  arrived  home  in  her  father's  bungalow. 
"It  must  have  been  true.  Fancy  me  doing  such  a 
thing !  I  wonder  what  he  would  have  thought. ' '  So 
she  reflected  over  all  she  had  done.  Then  she  began 
to  reassure  herself  by  recalling  how  she  had  often, 
when  only  ten  years  of  age,  danced  on  the  pae  pae  with 
the  pretty  tambu  maidens.  And,  as  she  remembered  it 
all,  she  gave  an  instinctive  high  kick  and  burst  into  a 
fit  of  laughter ;  then  she  said  to  herself : { '  I  'm  a  woman 
now  and  really  must  not  do  such  things ! ' '  She  started 
running  down  the  forest  track,  and  as  she  passed  by 
the  native  village  the  handsome  emigrant  Polynesian 
youths  waved  their  hands  and  cried :  ' '  Talof a  Madim- 
selle!"  One  handsome  young  Polynesian,  gifted  with 
superb  effrontery,  ran  forward  and  stuck  a  frangi- 
panni  blossom  in  her  hair.  This  by-play  made  the 
tawny  maids  who  were  squatting  on  their  mats  by  the 
village  huts  jump  to  their  feet  and  give  a  hop,  skip 
and  a  jump  through  sheer  jealousy. 


36  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

Once  more  Gabrielle  had  passed  on  and  entered  the 
depths  of  the  forest.  Passing  along  by  the  banyan 
groves  on  the  outskirts  of  the  villages  she  suddenly 
came  across  a  cleared  space  surrounded  by  giant 
mahogany-trees  —  a  kind  of  natural  amphitheatre. 
Between  the  tree  trunks  stood  several  huge  wooden 
idols  with  glass  boss  eyes  and  hideous  carved  mouths. 
They  seemed  to  grin  with  extreme  delight  at  the  adora- 
tion they  were  receiving  from  the  twelve  skinny  hags 
and  three  chiefs  who  knelt  and  chanted  at  their  wooden 
feet,  Gabrielle  stood  still,  fascinated  by  the  weirdness 
of  that  pagan  scene.  Again  and  again  the  hags  and 
chiefs  jumped  to  their  feet  and  prostrated  them- 
selves before  the  carved  deities.  "Tan  woomba!  Te 
woomba,  tardbaran,  woomba  woomba!"  they  seemed  to 
moan  and  mumble  as  the  stalwart  chieftains  jumped  to 
their  feet,  wagged  their  feathered  head-dresses,  thrust 
forth  their  arms  and  chanted  into  the  idols'  wooden 
ears.  The  largest  centre  idol  seemed  actually  to  grin 
with  delight  as  it  listened  to  the  mumbling  of  the 
chiefs.  Gabrielle  stared,  awestruck,  as  she  listened, 
and  the  hags,  leaping  to  their  feet,  danced  wildly  and 
shook  their  shell-ornamented  ramis  (loin  chemises), 
making  a  weird,  jingling  music  as  the  shells  tinkled. 
Then  they  lifted  their  skinny  arms  and  bony  chins  to 
the  forest  height  and  mumbled  weird  chants  of  death. 
Gabrielle  had  seen  many  similar  sights  in  Bougainville, 
but  never  before  had  she  quite  realised  the  full  meaning 
of  that  strange  chanting,  or  of  the  sorrow  that  impels 
heathens  to  fashion  an  effigy  with  a  fate-like  grin  on 
its  curved  wooden  lips  so  that  it  could  stand  before 
them  as  some  material  symbol  of  the  Unknown  Power ! 
As  Gabrielle  watched,  two  of  the  chiefs  turned  their 
heads,  recognised  her,  and  gave  their  sombre  saluta- 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD  37 

tion : ' '  Maino  tepiake ! ' '  And  still  the  hags  chanted  on. 
Then  Gabrielle  heard  a  faint  mumbling  coming  from 
the  belt  of  mangroves  that  grew  by  the  lagoons  near 
by.  She  was  astonished  to  see  six  tambu  maids  appear, 
attired  in  full  festival  costume,  which  consisted  of 
a  kind  of  sarong  fashioned  from  the  thinnest  tappa 
cloth.  The  girls  had  large  red  and  black  feathers 
stuck  in  their  head-mops  and  Gabrielle  knew  by  this 
that  someone  had  died  in  the  village  and  was  being 
borne  to  the  grave.  They  were  walking  slowly,  car- 
rying their  mournful  burden  between  them.  It  was 
an  old-time  tribal  funeral.  As  the  coffin-bearers 
arrived  in  front  of  the  idols  they  laid  their  burden 
down.  Gabrielle  instinctively  crossed  herself  when 
she  saw  the  wan  face  of  the  dead  mahogany-hued 
Broka  girl.  It  was  a  sad,  curiously  beautiful  face, 
for  death  had  toned  down  the  old  wildness  of  the  living 
features.  The  reddish,  coral-dyed  hair  had  fallen  for- 
ward on  to  the  pallid  brown  brow  and  gave  a  pathetic 
touch  to  that  silent  figure.  On  the  forehead  was  the 
plastered  scarlet  mud  cross,  a  sign  that  the  girl  had 
died  in  maidenhood.  She  was  stretched  out  on  a  long, 
narrow  death-mat  that  had  handles,  something  after 
the  style  of  an  ambulance  stretcher,  but  fashioned  in 
such  a  way  that  when  the  primitive  hearse  of  dusky 
arms  moved  forward  the  corpse  regained  a  sitting  pos- 
ture. The  effect  was  gruesome  in  the  extreme,  for 
the  head  of  the  corpse,  being  limp,  fell  forward  or 
wobbled  as  the  mourners  passed  along  the  narrow 
mossy  track.  Through  entering  into  the  spirit  of  the 
proceedings  Gabrielle  at  once  gained  the  sympathy 
of  those  pagan  mourners.  For  she  too  crept  behind 
the  procession  as  it  moved  along  among  the  pillars 
of  the  vast  primitive  cathedral.  The  thick  foliage  of 


38  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

the  giant  bread-fruits,  the  buttressed  banyans  and 
towering  vines,  that  ran  here  and  there  like  symphonies 
of  green,  scented  the  forest  depth.  And  when  the 
wind  sighed  it  seemed  to  be  some  moan  from  infinity, 
as  though  that  moving  procession  and  the  forest  itself 
stood  on  the  deep  inward  slopes  of  some  vast  sea. 
Only  the  remote  wide  window,  through  which  the  stars 
shone  by  night  and  the  sunsets  marked  the  close  of  each 
tropic  day,  was  visible  between  the  colonnades  of  tree 
trunks,  as  there  it  shone — the  far-away  western  hori- 
zon. Suddenly  the  procession  stopped.  The  six  tambu 
maidens  had  begun  to  chant  an  eerie  but  beautiful 
pagan  psalm  as  they  approached  the  grave-side ;  then 
they  laid  their  burden  gently  down.  The  weeping 
hags  and  chiefs  stood  looking  up  into  the  branches  of 
the  tall  coco-palm.  It  was  there  that  the  girl's  body 
was  to  rest  till  her  bones  whitened  to  the  hot  tropic 
winds.  Along  one  of  the  lower  branches  they  had 
fashioned  a  grave-mattress  of  twigs  and  leaves,  jungle 
grass  and  tough  seaweed,  the  whole  being  fastened  on 
to  the  branch  by  strong  sennet.  It  was  a  weirdly 
fascinating  sight  as  they  stood  there  voiceless  and 
began  hurriedly  to  perform  the  last  sacred  rites  over 
the  dead  girl.  The  tallest  of  the  mourners,  an  aged 
chief,  who  had  a  naturally  melancholy  aspect,  besides 
both  his  ears  being  missing,  took  a  bone  flute  from  his 
lava-lava  and  began  to  blow  a  weird  Te  Deum.  Gabri- 
elle  could  hardly  believe  her  eyes  as  the  tambu  maidens 
started  to  whirl  their  bodies  in  perfect  silence  to  the 
sound  of  the  wild  man's  piping.  Only  the  jingle  of 
the  rami  shells,  tinkling  in  exact  tempo  to  the  wailing 
fife  (made  out  of  the  thigh-bone  of  some  dead  high 
priest) ,  told  her  that  those  girls  were  whirling  rapidly 
in  the  forest  shadows.  The  hags  and  chiefs  had  already 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD  39 

fallen  prone  on  their  stomachs,  so  that  they  could  per- 
form the  last  mysterious  rite.  This  rite  necessitated 
them  rising  repeatedly  to  their  knees  so  that  they 
might  take  in  a  deep  breath  and  blow  their  stomachs 
out,  balloon-like,  to  enormous  proportions.  The  con- 
trast was  weird  in  the  extreme  when  their  bodies 
receded  and  subsided  into  a  mass  of  wrinkles.  This 
strange  rite  took  about  five  minutes  to  perform.  It  was 
a  rite  that  was  supposed  to  blow  the  sins  of  the  dead 
away  ere  the  spirit  entered  shadow-land. 

As  soon  as  this  ritual  was  completed  two  of  the 
chiefs  climbed  the  grave-palm  and  then,  hanging  in  a 
marvellous  way  by  their  feet,  they  leaned  earthwards 
and  gripped  the  dead  girl's  coffin-mat  by  the  sennet 
handles.  One  old  woman  (the  mother  probably)  rushed 
hastily  forward,  and  lifting  the  corpse 's  hand  kissed  it. 
Then  the  living  limbs  of  the  weird  grave-elevators  went 
taut  as,  still  with  their  heads  hanging  downwards,  they 
clutched  the  coffin-mat  and  slowly  pulled  the  dead 
figure  foot  by  foot  off  terra  firma  towards  the  sky! 
In  a  few  moments  the  dead  girl  lay  lashed  to  the  bough 
of  her  strange  grave,  high  up  in  the  forest  coco-palm. 
Suddenly  the  mourners  had  all  vanished!  Even 
Gabrielle  felt  some  of  the  fright  that  haunted  the  souls 
of  those  wild  people.  They  had  hurried  away  because 
it  was  known  that  directly  the  forest  wind  blew  across 
the  new-made  grave  the  soul  of  the  dead  departed 
for  shadow-land  and  must  not  be  tainted  by  the  breath 
of  the  living.  After  seeing  that  sight  Gabrielle  hurried 
away  also.  She  trembled  as  she  stepped  at  last  out  of 
the  forest  shadows  into  the  glory  of  the  sunlight.  She 
seemed  to  realise  at  that  moment  that  the  sun  was  the 
visible  god  of  the  universe,  the  rolling  orb  that  woos 
the  world,  creating  the  green  happiness  of  the  woods 


40  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

and  hills.  She  saw  the  migrating  birds  going  south 
as  she  lifted  her  eyes.  Perhaps  she  felt  the  winged 
poetry  of  the  birds  on  their  flight  to  the  southward, 
hurrying  away  like  symbols  of  our  own  brief  days. 
Her  eyes  were  very  concentrated  as  she  sighed  and  then 
jumped  carelessly  on  to  a  springy  banyan  bough  and 
began  to  sing  one  of  her  peculiar  songs.  Suddenly 
she  ceased  to  sing,  and  a  startled  look  leapt  into  her 
eyes  as  she  turned  her  head.  She  had  even  let  her 
swinging  legs  fall  stiff  so  that  the  old  blue  robe  might 
fall  and  hide  her  pretty  ankles.  Then  she  gave  a  merry 
peal  of  laughter  that  frightened  the  life  out  of  a  de- 
crepit cockatoo.  "Cah-cah!  "Whoo-cah!"  it  shrieked 
as  it  left  its  high  perch  and  flapped  away.  Hillary 
looked  up  and  threw  a  coco-nut  at  it  and  missed  by  a 
hundred  yards.  It  was  he  who  had  disturbed  the  girl. 
As  the  apprentice  stood  before  her  she  blushed  softly, 
as  though  her  bright  eyes  and  face  mysteriously  re- 
flected the  sunset  fire  that  shone  on  the  sea  horizon 
to  the  westward. 

Hillary  metaphorically  rubbed  his  hands  over  his 
luck.  He  had  strolled  over  the  hills  for  no  other  reason 
than  to  get  clear  of  his  growling  landlady,  who  had 
begun  to  give  hints  over  delayed  rent.  Nor  was  the 
old  half-caste  woman  to  be  blamed,  for  many  white 
youths  from  "Peretania"  arrived  in  the  Solomon  Isles 
crammed  with  hopes  and  promises  and  little  cash! 
Besides,  the  evening  was  the  only  time  fit  for  a  quiet 
stroll  without  being  charged  by  myriads  of  sand-flies 
and  other  winged,  tropical  things.  Though  Gabrielle 
had  hinted  to  him  that  she  generally  took  her  walks 
by  the  lagoons,  he  had  gathered  that  she  was  usually 
busy  at  the  twilight  hours  getting  her  father's  tea, 
polishing  his  wooden  leg,  etc.  Consequently,  Hillary's 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD  41 

face  was  aglow  with  pleasure  as  he  approached  the  girl. 
In  his  confusion  he  lifted  his  cap  and  bowed  as  men 
bow  to  maids  in  civilised  communities.  Gabrielle,  who 
was  unused  to  such  gallant  manners,  was  delighted. 
She  even  gave  a  little  nod  in  response.  It  was  a  most 
fascinating  bit  of  "court  etiquette"  on  her  part,  for 
she  had  learnt  it  from  her  French  novels.  Hillary, 
who  had  especially  noticed  and  loved  the  girl's  wild, 
rough,  fascinating  ways,  was  charmed  at  Gabrielle 's 
tiny  bit  of  "put-on."  It  would  have  been  impossible 
to  reproduce  the  expression  of  his  face  as  he  flung  him- 
self down  in  the  fern-grass  close  to  Gabrielle. 

The  girl  who  was  again  swinging  to  and  fro  on  the 
banyan  bough,  looked  sideways  like  a  parrot  on  the 
apprentice's  face,  wondering  why  he  looked  so  con- 
fused. Hillary  always  felt  shy  when  she  looked  at  him 
with  those  childish,  big  eyes. 

"  I  'm  going  to  clear  out  of  this  God-forsaken  place 
soon,"  he  said,  as  he  found  his  voice.  Then  he  con- 
tinued: "It's  marvellous  how  a  girl  like  you  can  exist 
in  this  infernal  hole,  full  of  tattooed  savages."  • 

She  only  stared  at  him  as  he  rambled  on,  and  won- 
dered why  he  attracted  her  so.  Then  she  laughed  like 
a  child,  and  looking  him  straight  in  the  face  said: 
"You  are  very  different  to  the  other  men  I've  seen 
round  these  parts. ' '  Hillary  felt  himself  redden  as  she 
stared  into  his  eyes ;  she  looked  critically  for  a  moment 
and  said:  "Different  coloured  eyes  too!"  Then  she 
added  artlessly:  "Do  you  drink  rum?" 

"On  cold  nights  at  sea,"  Hillary  responded,  as  he 
stroked  his  chin  and  felt  amused  at  the  girl 's  remarks. 

And  still  the  girl  sang  on  as  he  watched  her.  She 
looked  like  a  faery  child  as  she  sat  there  swinging  on 
the  banyan  bough,  the  music  of  her  voice  ringing 


42  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

some  elfin  tune  into  his  ears.  There  was  a  look  that 
reminded  him  of  Keats 's  La  Belle  Dame  Sans  Merci. 
Indeed,  the  apprentice  half  fancied  that  she  was  some 
visionary  girl  sitting  there  singing  to  him  from  a  ban- 
yan bough  in  the  Solomon  Isles.  And  as  the  sea-winds 
drifted  in  and  made  a  kind  of  moaning  music  in  the 
ivory-nut  palms  their  murmurings  seemed  to  sing : 

"  I  met  a  lady  in  the  meads, 
Full  beautiful — a  faery's  child; 
Her  hair  was  long,  her  foot  was  light, 
And  her  eyes  were  wild. 

I  set  her  on  my  pacing  steed, 
And  nothing  else  saw  all  day  long, 
For  sidelong  would  she  bend,  and  sing 
A  faery's  song. 

I  saw  pale  kings  and  princes  too, 
Pale  warriors,  death-pale  were  they  all ; 
They  cried :     '  La  Belle  Dame  sans  Merci 
Hath  thee  in  thrall!'" 

A  strange  bird  that  neither  knew  the  name  of  began 
to  whistle  its  evening  song  and  broke  the  spell.  "I 
wish  that  damned  bird  hadn't  come  and  spoilt  every- 
thing, ' '  was  Hillary 's  most  emphatic  mental  comment. 
Gabrielle  had  stopped  singing.  ' '  Do  you  love  the  songs 
of  birds,  Miss  Everard?"  he  said  as  he  looked  at  her 
and  gave  an  inane  smile. 

' '  I  do  this  evening, ' '  she  replied,  then  quickly  added : 
"It's  the  tribal  drums,  that  horrible  booming  and 
banging  in  the  mountains,  that  I  hate  to  hear ! ' ' 

' '  Fancy  that ! ' '  said  Hillary,  somewhat  surprised,  as 
he  listened  to  the  distant  echoes — it  was  the  tribal 
drums  up  in  the  native  village  beating  the  stars  in. 

"I  was  just  thinking  how  romantic  that  distant 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD  43 

drumming  sounded ;  the  people  in  the  far-off  cities  of 
the  world  would  give  something  to  hear  that  primitive 
overture  to  the  night,  I  can  tell  you, ' '  said  he. 

"Fancy  that!  "Why "  said  Gabrielle,  as  she 

over-balanced  and  fell  from  the  bough  in  considerable 
confusion  at  his  feet.  Hillary  made  a  grab  as  though 
she  had  yet  another  sheer  depth  to  fall. 

"Oh,  allow  me!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  picked  her 
novel  up.  The  girl  whipped  her  robe  down  swiftly 
and  hid  the  brown,  ornamental-stockinged  calves 
that  a  few  months  before  had  been  exposed  by  short 
skirts  to  the  gaze  of  all  those1  who  might  wish  to  stare. 
Gabrielle  blushed  as  she  rearranged  her  crimson  sash. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  kind  of  Oriental  style,  in  a  sarong, 
opened  at  the  sleeves  to  about  one  inch  above  the 
elbows.  The  crimson  sash  was  tied  bow-wise  at  the 
left  hip;  a  large  hibiscus  blossom  was  stuck  coquet- 
tishly  in  the  folds  of  her  hair,  making  her  small  white 
ear  peep  out  like  a  pearly  shell.  Her  retrousse  nose 
had  a  tiny  scratch  on  it  where  a  bee  had  stung  her  the 
day  before. 

"Why,  you've  scratched  your  arm!"  exclaimed 
Hillary,  taking  advantage  of  the  delicate  situation  by 
gently  pulling  back  the  sleeve  of  her  sarong  and  boldly 
wiping  a  tiny  speck  of  blood  away  from  the  soft  white- 
ness that  had  been  pricked  by  a  cactus  thorn.  Gabrielle 
put  on  a  look  of  extreme  modesty,  notwithstanding  that 
she  had  danced  on  a  heathen  pae  pae  a  few  nights 
before. 

"Your  eyes  are  different  colours,  one  brown  and 
one  a  beautiful  blue!"  she  suddenly  exclaimed  for 
the  second  time  as  she  burst  into  a  merry  peal  of 
laughter. 

The  young  apprentice  reddened  slightly.    "I  can't 


44  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

help  that.  I  did  not  make  my  own  eyes,  did  I?" 
he  said. 

For  a  moment  the  girl  stared  earnestly  at  his  face, 
then  said:  "Well,  you  needn't  mind,  really.  I  reckon 
they  look  fine ! ' ' 

"Don't  you  get  full  up  of  wandering  about  this 
heathen  locality?"  said  Hillary,  changing  the  con- 
versation. "Nothing  but  palm-trees,  parrots,  and 
brown  men  and  tattooed  women  roaming  about  gab- 
bling tabak  and  worshipping  idols. ' ' 

Gabrielle  laughed.  ' '  Don 't  you  care  for  the  natives  ? 
I  think  they're  amusing;  especially  at  the  festival 
dances, ' '  she  added  after  a  pause. 

"Well,  I  don't  object  to  the  festivals;  they're  orig- 
inal and  decidedly  attractive.  I  was  charmed  by  seeing 
a  Polynesian  maid  dance  like  a  goddess  over  a  Buka 
village  two  nights  ago." 

' '  Fancy  you  liking  to  see  native  girls  dance ! ' '  said 
Gabrielle,  giving  a  roguish  glance. 

"Well,  I  do;  there's  something  so  fascinating  and 
poetic  in  the  way  they  do  it  all, ' '  Hillary  responded. 

Gabrielle  readjusted  the  flowers  in  her  hair,  then 
said :  "  Would  you  like  to  see  me  dance  ? ' ' 

"Dear  me,  I  certainly  should ! ' '  exclaimed  the  young 
apprentice,  his  eyes  betraying  the  astonishment  he 
felt  over  her  question. 

' '  Shall  I  dance  ? ' '  Gabrielle  repeated. 

' '  What !  Now ! "  he  exclaimed.  He  lit  his  cigarette 
twice  over,  wondering  if  she  were  laughing  at  him 
or  really  meant  that  she  would  dance  there  on  the  spot. 

Before  he  could  say  another  word  Gabrielle  had 
risen  to  her  feet  and  was  dancing  before  him.  He 
blew  his  nose,  coughed,  put  on  an  inane  smile  and  then 
fairly  gasped  in  his  astonishment  and  admiration. 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD  45 

Her  tripping  feet  softly  brushed  the  blue  forest  flowers 
and  tell,  ferny  grass  that  swished  against  her  loose 
robe.  Hillary 's  embarrassment  had  changed  to  a  tre- 
mendous interest  in  the  originality  of  the  dancer  before 
him.  He  clapped  his  hands  in  a  kind  of  obsequious 
way  for  an  encore  as  she  swayed  in  a  most  fascinating 
manner,  her  hair  tumbling  over  her  shoulders,  her 
eyes  shining,  one  hand  holding  up  the  fold  of  her 
sarong-like  robe,  just  revealing  her  brown  stocking 
above  the  left  ankle.  ' '  Well,  I  'm  blessed ! "  he  breathed. 
She  had  begun  to  hum  a  weird  melody;  her  right 
hand  was  outstretched,  uplifted  as  though  she  held  a 
goblet  of  wine  and  would  drink  a  toast  to  some  pagan 
deity. 

He  looked  at  the  sunset;  he  half  fancied  that  it 
had  always  been  staring  from  the  ocean  rim,  and  would 
never  set!  And  as  he  looked  at  the  dancing  figure 
she  really  did  seem  to  hold  a  goblet  in  her  outstretched 
hand — full  to  the  brim — with  the  gold  of  sunset  that 
touched  the  landscape  and  was  glinting  over  her 
tumbling  hair  and  eyes. 

"The  Solomon  Isles!  The  Solomon  Isles!"  was 
all  that  he  could  breathe  to  himself  as  she  stared  at  him, 
a  strange  fixed  look  in  her  eyes.  A  cockatoo  fluttered 
down  to  the  lowest  bough  of  the  bread-fruit  tree,  looked 
sideways  on  her  swaying  figure,  slowly  flapped  its  blue- 
tipped  wings  in  surprise  and  chuckled  discordantly. 

"  Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay ! "  chimed  in  Hillary,  as  he 
clapped  his  hands,  stared  idiotically  and  felt  like  hid- 
ing behind  the  thick  trunk  of  the  bread-fruit. 

"Well  now!  You  dance  perfectly!"  he  gasped. 
Gabrielle  had  ceased  tripping.  She  looked  embarrassed 
and  had  begun  to  coil  up  her  tumbling  tresses. 

"Worth   chewing   salt-horse   and   hard-tack   on   a 


46  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

do2en  voyages  to  have  seen  what  I  've  seen ! ' '  was  the 
apprentice's  inward  reflection. 

''Do  the  girls  in  England  dance  like  that?"  she 
said  in  an  eager,  frightened  way. 

"Oh  no,  not  as  well  as  you've  danced.  Blest  if 
they  do ! "  said  he.  That  last  remark  of  hers  made  him 
realise  that  girl  before  him  was  half-wild  and  had 
danced  before  him  as  a  child  might  ere  it  became  self- 
conscious.  "Fancy  meeting  a  beautiful  white  girl, 
half -wild!  It's  thrilling!  I  wonder  what  will  be  the 
end  of  it, ' '  mused  Hillary,  as  he  stared  on  that  strange 
maid  whom  he  had  chanced  upon  so  suddenly. 

Suddenly  she  said:  "I'm  no  good  at  all;  you  may 
think  I  am,  but  I  'm  not. ' ' 

"Aren't  you?"  murmured  Hillary,  somewhat  taken 
aback. 

"You're  a  clever  girl.  Not  many  girls  can  quote 
the  poets  and  rattle  off  verses  as  you  can.  I  suppose 
your  father 's  an  educated  kind  of  man  and  has  a  good 
library  ? "  he  added  after  a  pause. 

Gabrielle's  hearty  peal  of  daughter  at  the  idea  of  her 
father  possessing  a  library  made  the  frightened  parrots 
flutter  in  a  wheel-like  procession  over  the  belt  of  shore- 
ward mangroves.  Then  she  said:  "Well,  my  father 
has  got  a  lot  of  books,  but  they  really  belonged  to  a 
ship 's  captain — a  nice  old  man  who  lived  with  us  years 
ago,  when  I  was  a  child. ' '  Then  she  added : ' '  His  ship 
was  blown  ashore  here  in  a  typhoon  and  when  he  went 
away  he  left  all  his  books  behind  him  in  Dad 's  bunga- 
low. I've  learned  almost  all  I  know  from  those 
books."  Saying  this,  she  pointed  with  her  finger 
towards  the  shore,  and  said:  "From  the  top  of  that 
hill  you  can  see  the  old  captain's  ship  to-day:  it's  a 
big  wreck  with  three  masts.  Father  told  me  that  the 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD  47 

old  captain  often  got  sentimental  and  went  up  on  the 
hills  to  stare  through  a  telescope  at  his  old  ship  lying 
on  the  reefs. ' ' 

' '  How  romantic !  So  I  've  to  thank  the  old  captain 
that  you  can  quote  the  works  of  the  poets  to  me," 
said  Hillary.  Then  he  added:  "But  still,  you're  a 
clever  girl,  there's  no  doubt  about  it." 

"I'm.  secretly  wicked,  down  in  the  very  depths  of 
me." 

"No!  Surely  not!"  gasped  the  apprentice  as  he 
stared  at  the  girl. 

Then  he  smiled  and  said  quickly:  "What  you've 
just  said  is  proof  enough  that  you're  not  wicked. 
You're  imaginative,  and  so  you  imagine  that  you  have 
limitations  that  no  one  else  has.  If  anyone's  wicked 
it's  me,  I  know,"  he  added,  laughing  quietly. 

"I've  got  the  limitations  right  enough,  that's  why 
I  feel  so  strange  and  miserable  at  times. ' ' 

"Don't  feel  miserable,  please  don't,"  said  Hillary 
softly  as  he  blessed  the  silence  of  the  primitive  spot 
and  the  opportunity  that  had  arisen  for  his  direct 
sympathy. 

"You  must  remember  that  we  all  have  our  besetting 
sins,  and  that  the  majority  of  us  think  our  besetting 
sin  is  our  prime  virtue, ' '  he  said.  "  I  've  been  all  over 
the  world  but  never  met  a  girl  like  you  before,"  he 
added  in  a  sentimental  way. 

"I  can  take  that  as  the  reverse  of  a  compliment," 
said  Gabrielle,  laughing  musically. 

"Believe  me,  Gabrielle,  I  would  not  say  things  to 
you  that  I  might  say  in  a  bantering  way  to  other  girls 
I  've  met.  I  dreamed  of  you  when  I  was  a  child,  so  to 
speak.  It  seems  strange  that  I  should  at  last  have 
met  you  out  here  in  the  Solomon  Isles,  that  we  should 


48  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

be  sitting  here  by  a  blue  lagoon  in  which  our  shadows 
seem  to  swim  together. ' ' 

"Look  into  those  dark  waters/'  he  added  after  a 
pause. 

Gabrielle  looked,  and  as  she  looked  Hillary  became 
bold  and  placed  his  hand  softly  on  her  shoulder, 
amongst  her  golden  tresses  that  tumbled  about  her 
neck.  And  Gabrielle,  who  could  see  every  act  as  she 
stared  on  their  images  in  the  water,  smiled. 

"It's  a  pity  you're  so  wicked,"  said  Hillary  jok- 
ingly. Then  he  added  suddenly:  "Ah!  I  could  fall 
madly  in  love  with  a  girl  like  you  if  only  I  thought  I 
were  worthy  of  you. — What's  the  matter?" 

' '  Oh,  nothing, ' '  said  Gabrielle.  Hillary  noticed  that 
she  had  become  pale  and  trembling. 

' '  Why,  you've  caught  a  chill ! "  he  said  in  monstrous 
concern,  though  it  was  100°  in  the  shade  and  the  heat- 
blisters  were  ripe  to  burst  on  his  neck. 

"Dad  thinks  everything  that  he  does  is  quite  per- 
fect," Gabrielle  said,  just  to  change  the  conversation, 
for  the  look  she  saw  in  the  young  apprentice's  eyes 
strangely  smote  her  heart. 

"Of  course  he  does,"  said  Hillary  absently. 

The  girl,  looking  eagerly  into  his  face,  said:  "You 
know  quite  well  that  you  play  your  violin  beautifully, 
I  suppose?" 

"I'm  the  rottenest  player  in  the  world." 

The  girl  at  this  gave  a  merry  ripple  of  laughter  and 
said:  "Now  I  do  believe  in  your  theory,  for  I've  heard 
you  play  beautifully  in  the  grog  bar  by  Rokeville. 
You  played  this" — here  she  closed  her  lips  and 
hummed  a  melody  from  II  Trovatore. 

"Good  gracious!  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD  49 

you  hover  about  the  Rokeville  grog  shanty  after 
dark?"  exclaimed  Hillary. 

Gabrielle  seemed  surprised  at  his  serious  look,  then 
she  burst  into  another  silvery  peal  of  laughter  that 
echoed  to  the  mountains. 

Hillary  looked  into  her  eyes,  and  seeing  that  eerie 
light  of  witchery  which  so  fascinated  him,  felt  that  he 
had  met  his  fate. 

" If  I  can't  get  her  to  love  me  I 'm  as  good  as  dead, ' ' 
was  his  mental  comment.  Even  the  music  of  her 
laughter  thrilled  him.  Then  she  rose  from  the  ferns, 
and  sitting  on  the  banyan  bough  again  started  to  swing 
to  and  fro,  singing  some  weird  strain  that  she  had 
evidently  learnt  from  the  tambu  dancers  in  the  tribal 
villages. 

"It  seems  like  some  wonderful  dream,  she  a  beauti- 
ful girl  with  flowers  in  her  hair,  sitting  there  singing 
to  me, ' '  thought  the  apprentice. 

Then  she  looked  down  at  him,  gave  a  mischievous 
peal  of  laughter,  and  said:  "Oh,  I  say,  you  are  a 
flatterer !  I  almost  forgot  who  I  really  was  while  you 
were  saying  those  poetic  things  about  me ! ' ' 

"Don't  laugh  at  me,  I'm  serious  enough,"  Hillary 
responded,  as  he  looked  earnestly  at  the  swaying  figure. 
Heaven  knows  how.  far  Hillary  might  have  progressed 
in  his  love  affair  had  not  the  usual  noisy  interruption 
occurred  at  the  usual  crucial  moment.  Just  as  he  felt 
the  true  hero  of  a  South  Sea  romance — sitting  there 
in  a  perfect  picture  of  ferns  and  forest  flowers,  sunset 
fading  on  a  sea  horizon,  dark-fingered  palms  bending 
tenderly  over  his  beloved  by  a  lagoon — with  a  ,rude 
rush  out  of  the  forest  it  came !  It  was  not  a  ferocious 
boar,  or  revengeful  elephant;  it  was  a  bulky,  heavily 
breathing  figure  that  seemed  the  embodiment  of 

4 


50  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

prosaic  reality.  It  was  attired  in  large,  loose  panta- 
loons, belted  at  the  waist,  a  vandyke  beard  and  mighty, 
viking-like  moustachios  drooping  down  to  the  Her- 
culean shoulder  curves. 

"What  the  blazes!"  gasped  Hillary,  as  he  looked 
over  his  shoulder  and  saw  that  massive  personality 
step  out  from  underneath  the  forest  palms.  The 
strange  being  wore  an  antediluvian  topee  and  an  ex- 
traordinary, old-fashioned,  long-tailed  coat.  The  at- 
mosphere of  another  age  hung  about  him.  A  colt 
revolver  stuck  in  his  leather  belt  seemed  to  have  some 
strong  link  of  kinship  with  the  grim  determination  of 
its  owner's  mouth. 

"What-o,  chum!  How's  the  gal?"  Saying  this, 
the  new-comer  put  forth  his  huge,  thorny  palm  and 
emphasised  his  monstrous  presence  by  bringing  it 
down  smash! — nearly  fracturing  Hillary's  spine. 

"What-o,  friend  from  the  great  unknown!"  came 
like  an  obsequious  echo  from  the  young  apprentice's 
lips  as,  recovering  his  breath,  he  saw  the  humour  of 
the  situation.  Hillary  well  knew  that  it  was  wise  to 
return  such  Solomon  Island  civility  as  affably  as  pos- 
sible. At  that  first  onslaught  Gabrielle  had  jumped 
behind  Hillary 's  back  when  he  had  sprung  to  his  feet. 
No  one  knows  how  long  that  new-comer  had  stood 
hidden  behind  the  palm  stems  before  he  came  forth. 
Anyhow,  he  rubbed  his  big  hands  together  in  a  mighty 
good  temper,  chuckling  to  himself  to  think  his  pres- 
ence should  be  so  little  desired.  He  bowed  to  the  girl 
with  massive,  Homeric  gallantry.  Then,  as  they  both 
stared  with  open-mouthed  wonder,  he  put  his  hand  up 
and,  twisting  his  enormous  moustache-end  on  the  star- 
board side,  courteously  inquired  the  route  for  the 
equivalent  of  the  South  Sea  halls  of  Olympus.  It  was 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD  51 

then,  and  with  the  most  consummate  impertinence 
imaginable,  that  he  gave  them  both  the  full  view  of  his 
Herculean  back  and  put  forth  his  mighty  feet  to  go 
once  more  on  his  way,  bound  for  the  wooden  halls  of 
Bacchus — the  nearest  grog  shanty. 

Such  a  being  as  that  intruder  on  Gabrielle's  and 
Hillary's  privacy  might  well  seem  to  exist  in  the 
imagination  only,  but  he  was  real  enough.  That  re- 
markable individual  was  only  one  of  many  of  his  kind 
who,  having  left  their  ship  on  some  drunken  spree, 
roamed  the  islands,  seeking  the  nearest  grog  shanty, 
after  some  drunken  carousal  in  the  inland  tribal 
villages. 

As  that  massive  figure  passed  away  he  left  his  breath, 
so  to  speak,  behind  him.  It  seemed  to  pervade  all 
things,  sending  a  pungent  flavour  of  adventure  over 
forest,  hill  and  lagoon.  Indeed,  the  faery-like  crea- 
tion into  which  Hillary's  imagination  had  so  beauti- 
fully transmuted  Gabrielle — vanished.  "Well,  I'm 
jiggered ! "  he  muttered.  As  for  Gabrielle,  she  looked 
as  though  she  was  half  sorry  to  see  that  handsome 
personality  go.  His  big,  grey  eyes  had  gazed  at  her 
with  an  unmistakable,  yet  not  rude,  look  of  admiration. 
Indeed,  before  he  strode  away  he  gazed  at  Hillary  as 
though  with  a  mighty  conern,  as  though  he  would  not 
hesitate  to  redress  wrongs  done  to  fair  maids  who  had 
been  lured  into  a  South  Sea  forest  by  such  as  he. 

' '  Do  you  know  him  ? ' '  gasped  the  apprentice  as  the 
man  went  off;  but  the  astonished  look  in  the  girl's 
eyes  at  once  convinced  him  that  the  late  visitor  was  a 
stranger  to  Gabrielle  as  well  as  to  himself.  It  all 
happened  so  suddenly  that  he  wondered  if  he  had 
dreamed  of  that  remarkable  presence.  But  the  fright- 
ened cockatoos  still  giving  their  ghostly  "Cah!  Cah!" 


52  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

over  the  palms  were  real  enough.  And  as  they  both 
listened  they  could  still  hear  the  fading  crash  of  the 
travelling  feet  that  accompanied  some  rollicking  song, 
as  the  big  sea-boots  of  that  extraordinary  being  beat 
down  the  scrubby  forest  growth  as  they  travelled  due 
south-west. 

Gabrielle  little  dreamed  as  she  stood  there  listening 
how  one  day  she  would  hear  that  intruder's  big  voice 
again,  and  with  what  welcome  music  it  would  ring 
in  her  ears. 

Gabrielle  laughed  quietly  to  herself  as  the  intruder 
passed  away  and  seemingly  left  a  mighty  silence  behind 
him.  She  had  seen  many  men  of  his  type  in  her  short 
day,  not  only  in  Rokeville,  but  out  on  the  ships  that 
anchored  in  the  harbour.  She  had  also  seen  stranded 
sailors  at  Gualdacanar,  at  Ysabel  and  at  Malaita,  where 
her  father  had  taken  her  on  a  trip  a  year  or  so  before. 
Such  men  stood  out  of  the  ruck,  quite  distinct  from 
the  ordinary  run  of  beachcombers,  who  were  usually 
stranded  scallawags,  seeking  out  the  tenderfoots  who 
would  stand  them  drinks  in  the  nearest  grog  bar. 
Hillary  saw  that  new-comer  as  some  mighty  novelty 
in  the  way  of  man ;  to  the  young  apprentice  the  late 
intruder  was  something  between  a  Ulysses  and  a  Don 
Quixote.  And  Hillary 's  conception  of  the  man 's  char- 
acter was  not  far  wrong.  Anyway,  he  did  not  express 
his  private  opinion,  for  he  looked  up  at  Gabrielle  and 
said :  ' '  Good  Lord,  what  an  awful  being.  Glad  to  see 
the  back  of  him ! ' ' 

It  may  have  been  that  the  late  stranger's  presence 
had  turned  Hillary's  thoughts  to  his  sailor  life,  for  that 
massive  being  positively  smelt  of  the  high  seas,  of 
tornadoes  and  sea-board  life  on  buffeting  voyages  to 
distant  lands.  Looking  up  at  Gabrielle,  he  suddenly 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD  53 

said:  ''I'm  going  aboard  the  schooner  that  is  due  to 
leave  for  Apia  next  week.  I'm  on  the  look-out  for  a 
berth.  I  suppose  I  sha'n't  see  you  any  more  if  I  get 
a  job?" 

Everard's  daughter  gazed  at  the  apprentice  for  a 
moment  as  though  she  did  not  quite  know  her  own 
mind  concerning  his  query.  Then  she  sighed  and  said : 
"Must  you  go  away  to  sea  again?" 

Hillary  looked  steadily  into  the  girl 's  face.  He  could 
not  express  his  thoughts,  tell  her  that  he  would  wish 
to  stay  with  her  always.  What  would  she  do  were  he 
to  spring  towards  her,  clutch  her  tenderly,  fold  her  in 
his  arms,  rain  impassioned  kisses  on  her  lips,  look  into 
her  eyes  and  behave  in  general  like  an  escaped  lunatic  ? 
She  might  think  he  was  mad ! — race  from  him,  scream- 
ing with  fright,  seeking  her  father's  assistance,  or  even 
hasten  for  the  native  police.  Such  were  the  thoughts 
that  flashed  through  Hillary 's  mind.  And  so,  although 
he  longed  to  do  all  these  things,  he  only  stood  half- 
ashamed  over  the  passionate  thoughts  that  flamed  in  his 
brain  as  he  gazed  into  the  half-laughing  eyes  of  the  girl. 

They  sat  and  talked  of  many  things.  Hillary  forgot 
the  outside  world.  He  half  fancied  he  had  been  sitting 
there  for  thousands  of  years  with  that  strange  girl  by 
his  side.  He  spoke  to  her  of  scenes  that  were  remote 
from  Bougainville:  of  England,  of  London  and  the 
wide  bridges  over  the  Thames,  and  of  the  deep,  dark 
waters  that  bore  the  tall  ships  away  from  the  white 
Channel  cliffs,  taking  wanderers;  to  other  lands.  And 
as  the  girl  listened  she  saw  old  London  as  some  city 
of  enchantment  and  romance,  where  cold-eyed  men  and 
women  tramped  down  labyrinthine  streets  by  dark 
walls.  In  her  imagination  she  even  fancied  she  heard 


54  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

the  mighty  clock  chime  the  hour  over  that  far-off  city 
of  wonder  and  romance. 

"Fancy!  And  you've  lived  there!  Actually  seen 
the  great  palaces,  the  spires  and  towers  that  I  've  read 
of  and  dreamed  about!"  said  Gabrielle.  Then  she 
added:  ''And  you've  seen  the  queen  and  the  beautiful 
princesses?" 

"Yes,  Gabrielle,  I  have." 

Then  she  said  artlessly :  ' '  "Weren  't  they  sorry  when 
you  left  England  for  the  Solomon  Isles?" 

For  a  moment  Hillary  was  grimly  silent,  then  he 
said:  "Well,  they  were,  rather!" 

Gabrielle 's  innocence  and  his  own  mendacity  had 
broken  the  spell  that  home-sickness  and  distance  had 
cast  over  him,  the  spell  that  had  enabled  him  to  picture 
to  Gabrielle 's  mind  the  atmosphere  of  old  London  in 
such  true  perspective.  Indeed,  as  he  talked,  Bougain- 
ville, with  all  its  novelty  and  heathenish  atmosphere, 
became  some  dull,  drab  reality  and  London  a  great 
modern  Babylon  of  his  own  hungry-souled  century. 
His  voice  as  well  as  Gabrielle 's  became  hushed.  He 
was  so  carried  away  by  his  own  vivid  imagination  that 
he  fancied  he  had  dwelt  in  some  ancient  city  of  smoky 
romance,  and  had  seen  a  Semiramis  on  her  throne,  and 
Pharaoh-like  peoples  of  a  past  age.  It  was  only  the 
eerie  beauty  of  Gabrielle 's  eyes  that  awakened  him  to 
the  reality  that  blurs  man's  inward  vision.  The  girl 
had  handed  him  a  small  flower  which  she  had  taken 
from  her  hair. 

' '  Could  anything  be  more  innocent  and  beautiful, ' ' 
he  thought  as  he  placed  that  first  symbol  of  the  girl 's 
awakening  affection  for  him  in  the  buttonhole  of  his 
brass-bound  jacket. 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  BLOOD  55 

Night  had  fallen  over  the  island.  ' '  I  must  go, ' '  said 
Gabrielle.  "  It 's  terribly  late. ' ' 

"So  it  is ! "  Hillary  moaned  regretfully.  Gabrielle 
hastily  jumped  into  her  canoe,  fear  in  her  heart  over 
the  coming  wrath  of  her  father.  Hillary  had  intended 
to  place  hisi  arms  about  her  and  embrace  her  before 
she  went,  but  his  chance  had  gone ! 

As  he  stood  beneath  the  tamuni-trees  and  watched, 
she  looked  more  like  an  elf-girl  than  ever,  as  her  canoe 
shot  out  into  the  shadows  of  the  moon-lit  lagoon  and 
was  paddled  swiftly  away. 


CHAPTER  HI 
SOUTH  SEA  OPERA  BOUFFE 

HILLARY  hardly  knew  where  he  was  going  as 
he  walked  back  round  the  coast,  thinking  of 
Gabrielle  Everard  and  all  that  had  upset  his 
mind.  "When  he  at  last  arrived  at  his  lodgings,  the 
old  wooden  shack  near  Rokeville,  he  was  tired  out. 
Even  pretty  Mango  Pango,  the  half-caste  Polynesian 
servant-maid,  wondered  why  on  earth  he  looked  so 
solemn  as  she  gave  her  usual  salutation:  "Tolafa! 
Monsieur  Hilly-aire ! ' ' 

"Nasty  face  no  belonger  you!"  said  the  cheeky  girl 
as  the  young  apprentice  forced  a  smile  to  his  lips, 
chucked  her  under  her  pretty,  dimpled  brown  chin,  and 
then  went  off  into  his  room.  It  wouldn't  have  been 
called  a  room  in  a  civilised  city,  unless  a  small  trestle 
bed,  a  tub  and  fourteen  calabashes  and  wooden  walls 
ornamented  with  grotesque-looking  Kai-kai  clubs  and 
native  spears  deserved  that  name.  He  could  even  see 
the  stars  twinkling  through  the  roof  chinks  on  windy 
nights,  when  the  palms  swayed  inland  to  the  breath 
of  the  typhoon  and  no  longer  let  their  dark-fingered 
leaves  hide  the  cracks  half  across  the  wooden  ceiling. 
But  still,  that  mattered  nothing  to  him ;  the  companion- 
ship of  his  own  reflections,  away  from  the  oaths  of 
grog-shanty  men,  beachcombers  on  the  shores,  and 
surly  skippers,  and  jabbering  natives,  made  up  amply 
for  all  the  apparent  discomfort  of  his  apartments. 

Pretty  Mango  Pango,  the  housemaid,  was  singing 
some  weird  native  melody;  it  seemed  to  soothe  his 
56 


SOUTH  SEA  OPERA  BOUFFE     57 

nerves  as  the  strains,  from  somewhere  in  the  out- 
buildings, came  to  his  ears  while  he  sat  there  reflecting. 
He  thought  of  England,  and  wondered  what  his  people 
thought  over  his  long  silence.  He  knew  that  they 
must  by  then  know  the  truth,  for  his  ship  must  have 
arrived  back  in  the  old  country  long,  long  ago  without 
him.  He  thought  of  the  wild  life  he  was  leading  as 
compared  with  life  in  London.  "It's  like  being  in 
another  world."  Standing  there  by  the  window 
listening  to  the  tribal  drums  beating  in  the  mountains, 
he  thought  he  saw  the  dark  firs  and  palms  for  miles 
over  the  inland  hills.  And  as  he  stared  he  felt  the 
eeriness  of  the  scene,  and  he  remembered  the  ghostly 
figures  that  sailors  swore  they  saw  on  those  moon-lit 
nights,  even  when  rum  was  scarce.  As  he  thought  of 
Gabrielle  his  brain  became  etherealised  with  dreams. 
He  took  out  his  dilapidated  volume  of  Shelley 's  poems 
and  read  The  Ode  to  the  West  Wind,  and  finally  be- 
came so  sentimental  that  he  sat  down  and  wrote  this 
letter  home : 

DEAR  MATER, — Forgive  me  for  not  writing  before 
this.  I  ran  away  from  my  ship.  Though  the  skipper 
smiled  like  an  angel  when  you  saw  him,  he  turned  out 
a  fiend  incarnate.  I  'm  out  here  in  the  Solomon  Isles. 
I  often  think  of  you.  .  .  .  You'd  never  believe  the 
wonderful  things  I  've  seen,  the  experiences  I  've  gone 
through,  since  I  left  you  all.  I  couldn't  stand 
Australia. 

First  of  all  I  must  tell  you  that  the  natives  here  are 
inveterate  cannibals,  but  still  they  're  not  likely  to  eat 
me.  I've  got  tough.  The  wonderful  part  of  it  all  is 
this :  I  Ve  met  a  most  beautiful,  eerie  kind  of  girl  here 
in  the  Solomon  Isles.  She  comes  up  to  all  that  I  ever 


58  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

dreamed  of  in  the  way  of  beauty  and  innocence  in 
human  shape.  I  know,  dear,  that  you  will  smile,  that 
thousands  of  men  have  thought  they  had  come  across 
the  one  perfect  woman ;  but  it  seems  to  me  something 
to  be  thankful  to  God  for  that  I  should  really  find  her ! 
And  living  out  here  in  these  God-forsaken  isles,  too ! 
Her  father's  not  much  of  a  catch  in  the  way  of  pro- 
spects. But  he's  a  retired  captain  and,  I  believe,  is 
well  respected  by  the  population.  I  'm  sure  you  would 
like  Gabrielle  if  you  saw  her,  and  you  will  see  her  if 
I  can  manage  it  all.  ...  It  seems  gross  to  have  to 
mention  business  prospects  after  mentioning  her. 

Well,  I'm  making  fine  progress  with  my  music. 
I've  mastered  Paganini's  twenty-four  Caprices.  I've 
also  composed  some  wonderful  pieces.  I  know  they  're 
good.  .  .  . 

I'm  reading  Shelley,  Byron  and  Swinburne  and 
Tolstoy's  Kreutzer  Sonata.  The  people  here  seem 
strangely  to  lack  poetic  vision.  They  are  wonderful 
men,  though,  brave  and  truthful  in  their  forcible  ex- 
pression at  the  concerts  outside  the  Beach  Hotel.  It's 
a  kind  of  Brighton  Hotel,  but  the  prima  donnas  are 
dusky.  I  was  knighted  by  a  tribal  king  the  other  night. 

Kiss  dear  sister  Bertha  for  me.  Tell  her  to  read 
Balzac's  Wild  Ass's  Skin.  It's  a  beautiful  book. 
She  must  skip  the  chapters  where  the  woman's  silken 
knee  comes  in,  etc.,  etc.  Your  affectionate,  loving 
son,  HILLARY. 

Having  penned  the  foregoing  epistle,  Hillary  placed 
it  in  his  sea-chest.  Like  many  of  his  temperament, 
he  wrote  more  letters  under  the  impulse  of  the  moment 
than  he  ever  posted. 

"It's  early  yet,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  stared  out 


SOUTH  SEA  OPERA  BOUFFE  59 

of  the  window  and  saw  the  moonlight  stealing  across 
the  rows  of  mountain  palms  to  the  south-west.  He 
could  hear  the  faint  rattling  of  the  derrick,  where  some 
schooner  was  being  unloaded  by  night.  That  noise 
seemed  to  rouse  him  from  his  dreams.  He  lit  his  pipe 
and  crept  out  of  the  door.  A  puff  of  cool  ocean  breeze 
came  like  a  draught  of  scented  wine  to  his  nostrils; 
for  it  had  passed  over  the  pine-apple  plantations  and 
drifted  down  the  orange  and  lemon  groves.  The 
pungent  odours  seemed  to  intoxicate  him.  But  still 
he  was  feeling  moody,  so  he  started  off  over  the  slopes. 
He  was  off  to  the  grog  shanty.  He  knew  that  originality 
abounded  in  that  drinking  saloon  and  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  its  wooden  walls. 

The  grog  shanty  of  Bougainville  harbour  was  known 
by  sailormen  as  far  as  the  four  corners  of  the  world  as 
the  finest  pick-me-up  and  dispeller  of  fits  of  the  blues 
in  existence.  Indeed,  that  shanty  was  a  kind  of  medi- 
cine chest,  the  magical  chemist's  shop  of  the  Pacific.  It 
was  the  opera  bouffe  of  South  Sea  life:  it  made  the 
cynic  smile,  the  poet  philosophical,  the  madman  feel 
that  he  must  surely  be  deadly  sane,  and  the  ne'er-do- 
wells  drunk  with  happiness.  Indeed,  the  consequential, 
heavily  moustached  German  consul,  Arn  Von  de 
Sixth,  had  crept  down  the  Rokeville  highroad  one  night 
and  seen  such  sights  that  German  culture  received  a 
shock!  He  at  once  issued  an  edict  that  no  native 
girls  were  to  visit  the  precincts  of  the  grog  shanties 
after  sunset. 

But  notwithstanding  his  strict  orders  the  dances 
still  went  on.  Indeed,  as  Hillary  arrived  in  sight  of 
the  dead  screw-pine  that  flew  the  Double  Eagle  flag 
the  scene  that  met  his  gaze  fairly  astonished  him.  It 
was  as  though  he  was  witnessing  some  phantom-like 


60  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

cinematograph  show.  A  small  cloud  that  traversed 
the  clear  tropic  sky  suddenly  blurred  the  moon,  sending 
lines  of  shadows  over  the  shining  spaces  outside  the 
grog  shanty.  This  made  the  scenic  effect  look  as 
though  a  covey  of  dusky  female  ghosts  had  rushed 
from  the  jungle  and  were  whirling  their  semi-robed 
limbs  in  wild  delight  beneath  the  coco-palms.  If  the 
apprentice  had  any  idea  that  the  scene  was  super- 
natural it  must  have  been  swiftly  dispelled  by  the  sound 
of  the  wild  chorus  of  a  chantey  coming  from  the  hoarse- 
throated  sailormen  assembled  outside  Parsons 's  bar. 
Then  the  moon  seemed  to  burst  into  a  silvery  flood  of 
silent  laughter  that  went  tumbling  over  the  dark  palm 
groves,  drenched  the  distant  shore  forests  with  pale 
light,  and  touched  the  dim  horizon  of  the  sea ;  it  even 
lit  up  the  bearded  mouths  of  the  shellbacks  and  re- 
vealed the  brilliant  eyes  of  the  dusky  ballet  girls  who 
had  stolen  down  from  the  mountain  villages.  They  had 
their  chaperon  with  them  in  the  shape  of  old  High 
Chief  Bango  Seru.  Those  brown  girls  were  his  prize 
gamal-house,  or  tambu  dancers.  A  mighty  calabash 
was  by  his  side.  It  was  in  that  handy  receptacle  that 
he  carefully  placed  the  accumulating  bribes  that  he 
demanded  as  payment  for  all  that  his  dusky  protege 
did — and  ought  not  to  do!  Parsons,  the  bar-keeper, 
poked  his  elongated,  bald  cranium  out  of  the  shanty 's 
doorway  and  shook  his  towel  violently.  (It  was  the 
signal  that  no  German  official  was  in  sight.) 

Once  more  pretty  Singa  Mavoo  and  Loa  Mog-wog 
lifted  their  ramis  (chemises),  revealed  their  nut-brown 
knees  and  swerved  with  inimitable  grace.  The  Yankee 
nudged  the  German  half-caste  in  the  ribs  till  they  both 
so  roared  with  laughter  that  they  fell  down.  It  was  a 
kind  of  miniature  representation  of  the  wine  of  the 


SOUTH  SEA  OPERA  BOUFFE  61 

European  music  hall  and  opera  bouffe  poured  into  one 
goblet  so  that  the  onlooker  might  swallow  the  draught 
at  a  gulp !  Oom  Pa,  the  aged  high  priest,  was  there. 
That  fervent  ecclesiastic  had  been  unable  to  resist 
the  temptation  thrown  out  to  him  by  the  half-caste 
German  sailors  and  grog-bar  keepers.  There  he  stood, 
as  plain  as  plain  could  be,  his  eyes  alive  with  avarice, 
as  he  too  winked,  begged  for  a  drink  and  solemnly 
pointed  out  the  attractions  of  his  two  pretty,  semi-nude 
granddaughters,  who  danced  ecstatically,  so  that  he 
might  add  his  mite  to  the  collection-box  for  the  heathen 
temple  fund  down  at  Ackra-Ackra. 

The  most  unimaginative  of  those  onlookers  breathed 
a  sigh  of  admiration  when  two  Malayo-Polynesian 
youths  stepped  out  of  the  shadows  and  put  forth  their 
arms,  looking  at  first  like  dusky  statues,  not  only  be- 
cause of  their  perfect  terra-cotta  limbs  and  artistic 
pose,  but  because  of  their  graceful  erectness  as  their 
arms  and  legs  moved  with  marvellous  symmetrical  pre- 
cision. Even  the  night  seemed  astonished  as  a  breath  of 
wind  came  in  from  the  seas  and  ran  across  the  island 
trees.  For  now  it  seemed  like  a  shadow-world  peopled 
with  puppets.  The  youths  put  forth  their  arms  and 
dived  up,  up  between  the  palms,  coming  down  on  their 
bare  feet  like  dusky  marionettes  dropping  softly  from 
the  moon-lit  sky!  Then  the  tambu  maids  began  to 
chant  and  dance.  Only  the  weird  jingling  of  their 
armlets  and  leglets  showed  that  they  were  really  there 
in  the  shadows,  as  the  shellbacks  in  their  wide-brimmed 
hats  looked  on  in  silence. 

"Tavoo!  Malloot!"  suddenly  said  a  voice.  The 
effect  of  those  two  words  was  magical.  Every  maid, 
dancer  and  onlooker  had  vanished!  Only  the  palms 
sighed  as  though  in  sorrow  of  it  all  as  a  German  offi- 


62  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

cial's  white  helmet  hat  came  into  sight  far  along 
the  beach. 

"Did  I  dream  it  all?"  murmured  Hillary.  He 
rubbed  his  eyes ;  then  he  went  across  the  sands  to  the 
spot  where  the  dancers  had  done  such  wondrous  feats. 
He  stamped  with  his  foot  to  see  if  there  was  some 
subterranean  outlet  through  which  the  dancers  could 
so  mysteriously  disappear.  But  all  was  solid  enough. 
The  moon  still  shone  with  its  silent,  religious  light. 
Parsons  napped  his  towel  three  times  from  the  grog- 
bar  doorway.  One  could  have  sworn  that  the  rough 
men  in  his  bar-room  had  never  left  their  drinks  as  they 
stood  there  solemnly  pulling  their  beards,  discussing 
old  grievances  in  hushed  voices.  Not  a  breath  of 
wind  stirred  the  phantom-like  palm  groves  outside; 
only  the  chants  of  the  cicalas  were  faintly  audible  as 
they  clacked  down  in  the  tall  bamboo  grass  of  the 
swamps  and  shore  lagoons.  Those  old  sailors  and 
shellbacks  looked  the  picture  of  honesty  till  they  gazed 
meaningly  into  each  other's  eyes  and  drank  on,  sighed 
and  sent  the  flames  of  the  roof  oil  lamps  flickering 
over  their  wide-brimmed  hats.  But  even  they  gave  a 
startled  jump  as  something  out  in  the  silent  night 
went  "Bang!"  It  might  have  been  the  signal  that 
any  kind  of  horror  was  being  perpetrated.  But  it  was 
only  a  mighty  thump  on  a  tribal  drum,  somewhere  up 
in  a  mountain  village,  telling  the  frightened  inhabitants 
that  all  was  well,  that  the  last  of  the  tambu  maids 
had  arrived  safely,  had  entered  the  stockade  gates 
and  that  their  pagan  world  might  rest  in  peace  for  the 
remainder  of  the  night. 

Even  Hillary  responded  to  the  far-off  voice  of  the 
tribal  drum,  for  he  turned  away  and  strolled  back  to  his 
humble  lodging-house.  As  he  went  over  the  slopes 


SOUTH  SEA  OPERA  BOUFFE     63 

he  saw  Oom  Pa  staggering  homeward  with  his  mighty 
calabashes,  minus  his  granddaughters,  who  had  come 
down  from  the  mountain  villages.  All  was  silent  as 
he  crept  beneath  the  palms,  passed  under  the  verandah 
and  entered  his  room.  Even  Mango  Pango  was  snoring 
on  her  sleeping-mat  in  the  kitchen,  so  late  was  it. 
And  yet,  as  he  looked  out  of  his  open  window  and 
yawned,  he  could  distinctly  hear  the  sounds  of  muffled 
drums  beating  across  the  slopes. 

"Damned  if  there  is  not  another  heathen  festival  on 
somewhere,"  he  muttered.  It  was  true  enough:  the 
full-moon  festivals  were  in  progress,  and  down  at 
Ackra-Ackra  they  were  chanting  and  banging,  and 
their  sacred  maids  were  dancing  to  the  discordant 
music.  Had  Hillary  known  wJw  was  dancing  at  that 
moment  on  a  tambu  stage  only  two  miles  away  he 
wouldn't  have  slept  much  that  night.  But  he  was 
oblivious  to  all  that  happened,  so  he  fell  asleep  and 
dreamed  of  dusky  whirling  ghosts  and  fate-like  drums 
that  swept  dancing  maidens  away  into  a  shadowy 
pageant  of  swift-footed  figures  that  bolted  into  the 
mountains  and  were  seen  no  more. 


CHAPTER  IV 
THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL 

A  soon  as  Gabrielle  Everard  had  paddled  across 
the  lagoon  and  passed  from  Hillary's  enrap- 
tured sight  she  pulled  her  little  craft  up  on 
the  sandy  beach,  hid  it  amongst  the  tall  rushes  and 
started  off  home.     She  stood  for  a  moment  hidden 
beneath  the  mangoes  till  three  jabbering,  hurrying 
native  chiefs  had  passed  by. 

As  she  watched  them  recede  from  sight  down  into 
the  gloom  of  the  sylvan  glades,  she  gave  a  sigh.  "I 
hate  to  see  those  big  tatooed  chiefs;  it's  through  them 
that  I  feel  so  wild  at  times,  I  'm,  sure.  I  simply  curse 
that  ancestor  of  mine  who  married  a  dark  woman. 
Why,  I  'd  sooner  die  than  marry  a  dark  man ! ' '  Then 
she  added :  ' '  Pooh !  Why  should  I  worry  ?  I  'm  white 
enough,  since  I  feel  such  a  dislike  for  them — but,  still, 
I  do  like  dancing  and  singing  at  times,  I  admit. ' ' 

Then  she  thought  of  the  young  apprentice;  his 
bronzed,  frank  face  and  earnest  eyes  rose  before  her 
memory.  "He  does  look  handsome;  those  odd 
coloured  eyes  of  his  do  fascinate  me;  but  it's  a  pity 
he's  not  a  passionate  kind,  who  would  make  love  like 
those  handsome  chiefs  do  when  they  sing  to  their 
brides  on  the  pae  paes  and  tambu  stages.  But  there, 
they  're  wild  and  can 't  control  their  passions  as  we  do ! ' ' 
she  added.  She  looked  down  into  the  lagoon  at  her 
image  and  blushed  deeply  at  her  own  thoughts.  "  I  'm 
getting  quite  a  pretty  girl — almost  a  beautiful  woman, ' ' 
was  her  next  reflection,  as  she  noticed  her  large  shad- 
owy eyes  and  her  full  throat  in  the  still  water. 
64 


THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL  65 

''Hallo,  Ramai!"  she  exclaimed,  as  a  graceful 
native  girl  suddenly  stepped  out  of  the  bamboo 
thickets,  stared  with  large  dark  eyes  at  her,  then  made 
as  if  to  pass  on.  "Don't  go,  Ramai,"  said  Gabrielle. 
The  girl  stared  sphinx-like  for  a  second,  then  moved 
on.  "I  go,  Madesi,  to  pray,  tabaran !  Must  go  or  die ! " 
answered  the  strange  maid  as  she  turned  round,  then 
pointed  her  dark  finger  in  the  direction  of  the  god- 
house  that  was  situated  somewhere  in  the  taboo 
mountains. 

"Your  old  god-houses!  Do  you  really  believe  in 
them?"  said  Gabrielle,  looking  earnestly  into  the 
strange  maid's  serious  eyes.  For  a  moment  Ramai 
stared,  put  her  brown  knee  forward,  made  a  magic 
pass  with  her  hands  above  her  head,  and  said :  ' '  The 
gods  have  spoken  more  than  once  to  Ramai  when 
the  stars  did  shine  in  the  lagoons  and  the  caves  by 
Temeroesi,  and  told  the  future.  And  am  I  not  sacred 
in  the  eyes  of  the  gods  ?  For  I  am  head  singer  at  the 
tambu  festivals,  so  are  my  love  affairs  good,  and  chiefs 
have  died  for  that  look  from  my  eyes  that  would  tell 
all  that  a  woman  may  say. ' ' 

' '  If  I  danced  on  the  pae  paes  would  I  be  loved  too  ? ' ' 
said  Gabrielle  almost  eagerly. 

"Pale-faced  Marama,  you  no  dance;  the  gods  like 
not  your  kind!"  Ramai  answered  almost  scornfully. 
Then  she  glided  away  into  the  shadows  on  the  other 
side  of  the  track  and  disappeared. 

Gabrielle  burst  into  a  merry  peal  of  laughter.  Once 
more  she  looked  at  her  image  in  the  lagoon  and  began 
to  chant  and  sway  and  clap  her  hands  rhythmically, 
just  as  she  had  seen  the  natives  do.  The  deep  boom  of 
the  bronze  pigeon  recalled  her  to  herself  as  she  stood 
throwing  her  shapely  limbs  softly  to  and  fro.  The 

5 


66  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

songs  of  the  birds  seemed  to  remind  her  that  she  was 
no  longer  a  child,  and  that  such  antics  were  a  bit  out 
of  place  now  that  she  wore  long  dresses.  She  stopped 
dead,  and  put  her  hands  into  the  folds  of  her  hair  that 
had  fallen  in  a  glinting  mass  to  her  shoulders  as  she 
shuffled  her  sandalled  feet  in  the  long  jungle  grass. 

' '  I  'm  really  getting  awful, ' '  was  her  next  reflection. 
The  sun  was  lying  broad  on  the  western  sea-line;  it 
looked  like  an  enormous,  dissipated,  blood-splashed 
face  that  would  hurry  to  hide  itself  below  the  rim  of 
the  ocean,  away  from  the  violent  wooing  of  the  hot, 
impassioned,  tropic  day. 

Gabrielle  stared  across  the  seas  from  the  hill-top  and 
half  fancied  that  that  great  hot  face  grinned  from  ear 
to  ear  over  all  it  had  seen.  A  peculiar  feeling  of  fright 
seized  her  heart.  In  a  moment  she  had  turned  and 
hurried  away.  She  felt  quite  relieved  as  she  sighted 
her  father's  bungalow  beneath  the  shade  of  the  bread- 
fruits. " It's;  late.  Won't  Dad  swear!  I  don't  care; 
men  must  swear,  I  suppose,"  she  muttered  as  she 
plucked  up  courage  and  entered  the  small  door  of  the 
solitary  homestead. 

The  shadows  of  evening  had  fallen ;  the  last  cockatoo 
had  chimed  its  discordant  vesper  from  the  banyans 
near  by.  The  room  was  nearly  dark  as  she  opened  the 
door;  only  a  faint  stream  of  light  crept  through  the 
wide-open  casement  that  was  thickly  covered  with 
twining  tropic  vine  and  sickly  yellowish  blossoms. 
To  her  astonishment,  she  was  received  by  her  father 
with  a  broad  smile  of  welcome.  "Come  in,  deary, 
don't  stand  there!  What  yer  frightened  of — you 
"beauty?"  said  old  Everard,  as  his  lean,  clean-shaven 
face  looked  up  at  the  girl  in  a  warning  way  and  he 
placed  a  forcible  accent  on  the  last  two  words. 


THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL  67 

"Who's  here  that  he  should  be  so  affable!" 
thought  Gabrielle. 

Turning  round,  she  was  startled  to  see  a  tall  figure 
standing  by  the  window.  In  a  moment  she  hurried 
to  the  mantel  piece  and,  striking  a  match,  lit  the  small 
oil  lamp,  scolding  her  father  all  the  time  for  his  dis- 
courtesy in  allowing  a  stranger  to  stand  in  the  dark- 
ness. As  she  turned  and  gazed  at  the  visitor  she  almost 
gave  a  cry,  so  impressed  was  she  by  the  appearance  of 
the  man  before  her.  It  was  the  handsome  Rajah  Koo 
Maeka,  the  half-caste  Malayo-Papuan  missionary. 
He  was  attired  in  semi-European  clothes,  but  with 
this  difference — round  his  waist  was  twined  a  large 
red  sash  and  on  his  head  the  tribal  insignia  of  the 
Malay  Archipelago  Rajahship,  which  consisted  of 
coils  of  richly  coloured  material  swathed  round  and 
round  to  resemble  a  turban.  He  looked  like  a  hand- 
some Corsair  who  had  suddenly  stepped  out  of  an 
Eastern  seraglio.  For  a  moment  the  girl  stared  in 
astonishment ;  the  Rajah  corresponded  with  her  concep- 
tion of  what  the  grand  old  heroes  of  romance  were  like. 

The  Rajah  took  in  the  whole  situation  and  the  im- 
pression he  had  made  at  this  first  glance  at  the  father 
and  daughter.  He  swelled  his  chest  and  assumed  his 
most  majestic  attitude,  and  then  behaved  as  though  he 
knew  he  had  befriended  the  girl  by  being  at  her  home- 
stead at  that  opportune  moment. 

"My  darter!"  said  old  Everard,  inclining  his  lean 
face  and  introducing  the  girl  with  a  grin. 

"Tour  daughter!"  gasped  the  Rajah  as  he  stared 
with  all  the  boldness  and  brazen  admiration  that 
Hillary's  eyes  had  lacked  into  Gabrielle 's  face.  He 
was  taking  no  risks,  had  no  idealistic  views  about 


68  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

innocence  and  beauty  to  thwart  his  heart's  desires — 
in  a  sense  he  had  already  captured  her ! 

Gabrielle,  recovering  from  that  thrilling  glance, 
blushed  deeply.  She  stared  at  the  dark  moustache ;  it 
was  waxed,  and  curled  artistically  at  the  tips.  ' '  What 
eyes! — luminous,  warm-looking,  alive  with  romantic 
dreams ! "  she  thought. 

The  Rajah  looked  again  at  the  girl.  That  second 
swift  glance  made  her  heart  tremble  with  fright,  but 
somehow  she  liked  to  see  a  man  stare  so. 

"My  darter  'andsome  girl,"  gurgled  old  Everard, 
stumping  his  wooden  leg  twenty  times  in  swift  succes- 
sion, as  Gabrielle  brought  out  the  rum  bottle.  The 
business  confab  that  had  been  going  on  between 
Everard  and  his  guest  ceased  abruptly.  The  old  ex- 
sailor  took  the  Rajah's  proffered  cigar,  stuck  it  in  his 
mouth  and  gripped  the  ex-missionary's  hand,  with 
secret  delight  bubbling  in  his  heart.  That  grip  said  to 
Everard:  "Everard,  old  pal,  I  never  knew  you  had 
such  a  bonny  daughter.  Never  mind  the  business  I 
came  here  about,  I'll  supply  you  with  cash  for 
rum!"  The  old  sailor  rubbed  his  hands.  Pie  knew 
that  the  man  before  him  was  wealthy,  owned  a 
schooner,  and  was  boss  of  two  plantations  in  Honolulu, 
where  he  had  first  met  him.  He  put  forth  his  horny 
fist  and  gave  the  Rajah  the  first  familiar  nudge  of 
equality. 

Everard  was  altogether  worldly,  but  utterly  un- 
worldly in  the  great  human  sense  of  that  phrase.  He 
lacked  the  swift  instincts  that  should  have  made  him 
discern  the  truth  and  see  how  the  wind  might  blow. 
His  drunken  eyes  could  not  read  the  deeper  meaning 
in  the  Rajah's  eyes  as  that  worthy  glanced  at  his 
daughter.  He  could  see  nothing  of  the  passion  and 


THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL  69 

lust  that  is  so  often  in  the  hearts  of  the  men  of  mixed 
blood  in  the  dark  races. 

Even  Gabrielle's  half -fledged  instincts  of  woman- 
hood made  her  realise  that  the  man  before  her  did  not 
exactly  represent  her  preconceived  ideas  of  what  the 
old  heroes  of  romance  would  look  like  could  they  stand 
before  her  in  the  flash;  the  look  in  the  Rajah's  eyes 
as  he  gazed  on  her  was  rather  too  obvious. 

That  night  as  the  three  of  them  sat  at  the  table  and 
Everard  roared  with  laughter  over  Rajah  Macka's 
jokes,  and  giggled  in  delight  at  discovering  that  the 
Papuan  potentate  was  such  a  fine  fellow  after  all, 
Gabrielle's  heart  fluttered  like  a  caught  bird.  Rajah 
Koo  Macka  had  leaned  across  the  table  once  and  stared 
into  her  eyes  in  such  a  way  that  even  old  Everard  had 
ceased  his  narrative  concerning  his  own  astuteness 
and,  like  the  idiot  he  was,  stared  at  the  Rajah,  the  rum 
goblet  still  between  his  lips  and  the  table.  But  the 
Rajah,  noticing  that  swift  look  in  the  old  ex-sailor's 
face,  immediately  recovered  his  mental  equilibrium, 
and  with  astute  cunning  swiftly  turned'  to  his  host 
and  said:  "I  really  couldn't  help  staring  so.  Why, 
bless  me,  Everard,  this  Miss  Gabrielle  is  the  dead  spit 
of  the  Madonna,  the  glorious  painting  that  adorned 
the  sacred  walls  of  my  missionary  home  when  I  studied 
Christianity's  holy  precepts." 

"Damn  it!  Is  she?"  wailed  old  Everard,  as  the 
artful  heathen  gent  shaded  his  eyes  archwise  with 
one  dusky  hand  and,  staring  unabashed  with  a  long, 
reflective  glance  at  Gabrielle,  murmured  in  holiest 
tones:  "Virginity!  Virginity!  O  blessed  word!" 

Gabrielle  certainly  did  look  beautiful:  the  dying 
flowers  in  her  bronze-golden  hair  and  her  neglige  attire 
(a  much-renovated,  washed-out  blue  robe  and  scarlet 


70  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

sash)  added  to  the  mystery  of  that  sordid  bungalow, 
as  the  dim  candles  and  oil  lamp  burnt  humbly  before 
the  unfathomable  eyes  of  sapphire-blue.  The  deep 
golden  gleam  in  their  pupils  seemed  to  expand  as  the 
night  grew  old.  What  a  night  of  magic  it  was  for  her ! 
The  strange  man  from  the  seas  thrilled  her. 

The  old  bungalow,  lit  up  by  two  tallow  candles  and 
one  oil  lamp,  the  smell  of  rum,  all  vanished,  and  the 
dilapidated  furniture  and  walls  shone  with  a  beautiful 
light,  a  light  that  came  from  that  romantic  presence ! 
By  an  inscrutable  paradox  Macka  was  abnormally 
sensual  and  selfish,  and  yet  truly  religious !  He  spoke 
in  low,  sombre  tones  about  Christ,  of  innocence,  of 
the  hopes  of  the  living  and  of  men  when  they  are  dead. 
Old  Everard  looked  almost  sane  as  he  leaned  his 
Dantesque  face  across  the  table  and  murmured 
"Amen."  And  as  the  girl  listened  the  Rajah  loomed 
before  her  imagination  as  some  glorious  representative 
of  the  chivalric  ages  who  had  stolen  into  their  bungalow 
out  of  the  hush  of  the  great  starry  night.  The  very 
wallsi  of  the  room  faded  away  as  she  watched  his  eyes 
flash.  It  was  the  sudden  tiny  pinch  on  her  leg  as  he 
stooped  to  pick  up  his  fallen  cigar  that  she  couldn't 
quite  place.  It  most  certainly  had  no  Biblical  import 
in  the  books  she  had  read.  But  still,  "Why  worry?" 
she  thought,  as  she  once  more  came  under  the  spell  of 
that  look.  And  still  old  Everard  looked  round  with 
insane  eyes  and  thanked  God  for  a  Rajah's  friendship ; 
and  still  Gabrielle  struggled  against  the  fascination  of 
that  man  of  mystery.  Though  nature  has  fixed  indis- 
putable danger  signals  in  the  eyes  of  voluptuaries,  liars, 
rogues  and  old  roues  so  that  they  give  themselves  away 
in  a  thousand  acts,  women's  blind  eyes  will  not  see! 

All  the  old  idolatry,  the  belief  in  his  heathen  gods, 


THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL  71 

returned  to  Rajah  Koo  Macka  that  night.  His  mind 
was  fired  with  superstition,  much  as  Gabrielle's  was 
by  romance,  as  he  stared  upon  her.  Had  not  the  gods 
of  his  boyhood  far  away  in  New  Guinea  spoken  of  such 
a  one  with  midnight-blue  eyes  and  the  hue  of  the 
stars  in  her  hair  ?  And  was  she  not  before  him  drink- 
ing to  his  eyes  as  she  held  the  goblet  at  his  wish  ?  Had 
not  their  lips  met  in  secret  before  the  white  man's 
blinded  eyes? 

He  even  made  a  further  advance  in  that  predestined 
courtship,  as  planned  by  the  gods,  when  he  left  the 
bungalow  that  night.  In  a  way  that  is  the  special 
gift  of  voluptuaries,  he  managed  to  squeeze  by  her  in 
the  doorway,  passing  his  arm  about  her  with  heathen 
artistry  till  she  felt  a  strange  thrill.  Old  Everard  also 
received  monstrous  pressures  of  friendship  as  he  put 
forth  his  hand  and  opened  his  insane-looking  mouth 
at  being  so  flattered.  Then  the  old  ex-sailor  fell  down 
in  the  doorway,  dead  drunk. 

As  soon  as  the  Rajah  got  outside  the  bungalow  he 
stood  under  the  palms  and  looked  back  at  that  little 
homestead,  a  terrible  fire  gleaming  in  his  eyes.  The 
old  superstition,  deep  in  his  heart's  blood,  asserted 
itself  with  that  full  strength  that  is  always  triumphant 
when  invested  with  the  power  of  two  creeds.  ' '  She 's 
mine!"  he  muttered  in  the  old  Malayan  language. 
He  looked  like  an  agent  of  the  devil  as  he  waved  his 
arms  and  made  magical  passes.  Then  he  gave  a  low 
whistle.  Two  stalwart  Kanakas,  with  mop-heads  and 
glassy  eyes  like  dead  fish,  stepped  out  of  the  shadows 
and  saluted  the  Rajah.  ' '  Talof a  Alii,  Sah ! ' '  said  one, 
as  he  softly  swung  his  strangling  rope  to  and  fro  and 
muttered,  "Oner,  twoer,  threer,  fourer,"  at  the  same 
time  ticking  off  each  number  with  his  dusky  finger. 


72  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

They  were  kidnappers,  members  of  his  crew.  In  a 
moment  they  were  all  hurrying  down  towards  the  shore. 
As  they  stood  by  the  coral  reefs,  the  waves  singing  up 
to  their  feet,  the  Rajah  rubbed  his  hands  with  delight, 
for  there  were  five  dark  girls  lying  prone,  half 
strangled,  in  his  waiting  boat. 

They  had  just  been  caught  while  swimming  in  the 
enchanted  lagoons  at  Felisi,  where  native  maidens, 
at  the  tribal  witchman's  bidding,  went  in  the  dead  of 
night  to  wash  their  bodies  in  the  charm-waters  that 
made  girls  so  beautiful.  Even  as  the  Rajah  and  his 
kidnappers  stood  on  the  shore  they  heard  the  sound  of 
a  sharp,  terrified  scream  come  faintly  on  the  hot  winds 
across  the  hills.  They  knew  that  another  victim  had 
been  caught  in  the  thug-nets.  It  was  easy  enough  too ; 
for  it  was  a  happy  hunting  ground  for  the ' '  recruiters ' ' 
down  Felisi  beach  way.  In  the  dead  of  night  native 
girls  often  ran  along  the  soft,  moon-lit  sands  like  coveys 
of  dishevelled  mermaids,  placing  sea-shells  to  their 
ears  that  they  might  hear  the  songs  of  dead  sailors 
and  the  far-off  voices  of  their  unborn  children  hum- 
ming and  moaning  in  the  great  spirit-land  that  is 
under  the  sea. 

Gabrielle's  heart  thumped  like  a  drum  as  she  softly 
closed  the  door  of  the  bungalow.  She  thought  she 
must  have  dreamed  it  all.  A  handsome,  god-like 
Rajah  had  gazed  upon  her  as  though  she  were  a  goddess 
— impossible!  So  thought  the  girl  as  she  stumbled 
over  a  sordid  reality — her  father's  recumbent  form 
on  the  bungalow  door-mat.  He  still  lay  where  he  had 
fallen.  He  was  a  big  man,  and  so  it  was  with  much 
difficulty  that  she  at  length  managed  to  pick  him  up 
and  lay  him  down  on  the  old  settee.  Then  she  sat 


THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL  73 

down  in  the  big  arm-chair.  She  heard  her  father 
gurgling  out  some  old-time  sea-chantey,  so  faint  that 
it  sounded  a  long  way  off.  The  two  tallow  candles 
were  burning  low  in  their  coco-nut-shell  candlesticks. 
But  still  she  sat  there.  The  idea  of  going  to  bed 
seemed  ridiculous  after  the  wonderful  thing  that  had 
happened.  She  was  still  trembling  to  her  very  soul 
over  the  Rajah's  flatteries. 

She  thought  of  that  secret  pressure,  the  hot  kiss, 
the  deep  meaning  look  in  the  flashing  eyes.  ' '  He  even 
spoke  of  God.  Men  seem  to  think  more  of  God  than 
women, ' '  she  muttered  absently.  "  I  'm  dark,  a  heathen 
at  heart;  I'd  like  to  marry  a  handsome,  dark  man 
like  that,"  she  continued,  as  she  began  to  beat  her 
hands  to  and  fro.  Suddenly  she  felt  a  pang  at  her 
heart,  for  she  had  begun  quite  unconsciously  to  hum 
a  melody  that  she  had  heard  the  young  apprentice 
play  to  her  on  his  violin.  Her  limbs  started  to  tremble ; 
the  old  look  came  back  to  her  eyes ;  the  swarthy,  half- 
fierce  look  had  vanished.  She  tried  to  change  her 
thoughts  by  humming  on  in  that  weird  way.  "I'm 
heathenish,  I  'm  sure  I  am, ' '  she  almost  sobbed.  Then 
a  fierce  feeling  took  possession  of  her  as  she  realised 
her  own  unstable  thoughts  over  the  two  men  she  had 
just  met.  For  a  moment  she  sat  perfectly  still,  think- 
ing— then  she  burst  into  tears. 

Everard  still  snored  on.  Gabrielle  ceased  her  tears, 
clapped  her  hands  and  laughed  softly  to  herself.  She 
had  drank  a  little  rum  and  stuff  that  she  knew  not  the 
name  of  that  night.  How  could  she  help  doing  so. 
Had  not  the  Rajah  placed  his  lips  at  the  goblet's  edge 
and  looked  sideways  in  deep  meaning  at  her  as  he 
drank  a  toast  to  her  father?  But  it  wasn't  the  rum 
that  filled  the  bungalow  parlour  with  mystery  and 


74  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

changed  the  universe  for  her.  She  forgot  the  arm- 
chair in  which  she  sat:  it  seemed  that  she  sat  on  a 
lonely  shore  by  night  and  stared  at  a  blood-red  sun  that 
peered  at  her  over  the  ocean  horizon.  Perhaps  the 
Rajah  had  done  this  mysterious  thing  to  her  through 
his  tender  pressure.  He  knew !  He  knew !  But  still, 
he  had  no  hint  in  his  mind  of  the  witchery  of  that 
girl 's  soul. 

She  rose  from  the  arm-chair,  her  shadow  dodged 
about  the  walls  of  the  bungalow,  then  she  peeped 
through  the  open  casement.  Night  lay  with  its 
tropical  mystery  drenched  with  stars  as  she  stared 
upward1  and  then  again  across  that  silent  land.  She 
withdrew  her  head  and  placed  a  pillow  under  her 
sleeping  father's  head,  then  crept  from  the  room,  pass- 
ing up  the  three  steps  that  separated  her  from  her 
own  chamber.  Her  room  was  faintly  lit  up  by  the 
tint  of  moonrise  on  the  distant  mountains.  "How 
silly  of  me  to  feel  frightened  like  this, ' '  she  murmured, 
as  she  swiftly  lit  the  oil  lamp.  Her  limbs  still  trembled. 
A  feeling  of  intense  sorrow  had  come  over  her.  The 
apprentice's  eyes  rose  before  her  memory  again;  she 
thought  of  the  tryst  by1  the  lagoon,  and  it  all  seemed 
like  some  memory  of  a  romantic  opera  she  had  seen  and 
heard  long  years  ago.  Then  she  gave  a  startled  cry: 
a  shadow  had  run  across  the  room.  "How  foolish 
of  me  to  be  frightened  of  my  own  shadow ! ' '  she  said 
almost  loudly  to  herself,  as  though  she  would  seek 
courage  by  hearing  her  own  voice.  "I've  heard  that 
mother  had  nights  of  madness,  when  she  thought  a 
dark  woman,  blind,  deaf  and  dumb,  crouched  under 
her  bed  and  begged  forgiveness  for  something  she'd 
done."  So  she  thought  as  she  rushed  to  the  window 
to  get  away  from  her  thought. 


THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL       -  75 

But  Gabrielle  could  not  escape  from  that  presence. 
She  looked  out  on  the  wide  landscape  of  feathery  palms 
and  pyramid-shaped  hills  to  the  south-east  in  a  strange 
fear.  Then  she  stared  seaward  in  the  direction  of  the 
dark-armed  promontory,  where  she  knew  the  native 
girls  stood  on  their  great  god-nights,  coiled  their 
tresses  up  and  dived  into  the  moon-lit  seas,  so  that 
they  might  swim  and  beat  their  hands  at  the  cavern 
doors  where  Quat  and  his  vassal-gods  moaned. 

' '  I  'm  going  mad  too, ' '  she  murmured,  as  she  pulled 
her  head  in  through  the  open  window  and  began  to 
undress.  One  by  one  she  pulled  off  her  sandals  and 
ribbons.  Then  she  heard  a  queer  kind  of  sawing  noise. 
"What's  that?"  she  wondered.  But  it  was  only  the 
regular  intervals  between  Everard's  snores  in  the 
silent  parlour  below.  "It's  Dad!"  she  murmured; 
and  the  sound  of  that  deep  bass  snore  soothed  her  soul 
as  though  it  were  the  music  of  the  singing  spheres. 
She  took  off  her  blouse,  undid  the  lace  corsage,  loosened 
the  sash  swathing  till  her  semi-oriental  attire  fell 
rustling  to  her  knees.  "Am  I  so  beautiful?"  she 
murmured,  as  she  looked  half  in  fright  and  guilt  at 
herself  in  the  oval  bamboo  mirror.  Her  eyes  sparkled 
like  stars  in  the  gloom  as  she  peeped  through  her 
bronze-gold  tresses.  And  still  she  swerved  and  swayed, 
so  that  the  cataract  of  golden  hair  fell  to  her  throat 
and  again  below  the  sun-tanned  flush  of  her  bosom. 
She  thought  of  the  Rajah,  the  warm  look  of  his  dark 
eyes.  A  strange  thrill  went  through  her.  As  though 
a  dark  figure  ran  across  the  moon-lit  space  just  oustide 
her  window  once  again,  a  shadow  whipped  across  the 
room.  She  hastily  wrapped  a  robe  about  her,  rushed 
across  the  room  and  stared  through  the  vine-clad 
bamboo  casement.  The  sight  of  the  masts  in  the  bay 


76  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

and  the  dim  light  of  the  far-off  grog  shanty  by  Felisi, 
where  she  knew  sunburnt  men  from  the  seas  spent  the 
nights  in  wild  carousal,  dispelled  her  fears.  She  looked 
round  her;  then  in  some  unaccountable  fascination 
she  stared  in  the  mirror  again.  "I'm  growing  into 
a  woman,  getting  quite  beautiful ! ' ' 

"I'm  growing  into  a  woman,  getting  quite  beauti- 
ful!" came  some  exact  echo  of  her  words.  She  was 
startled;  she  swiftly  glanced  round  the  room;  she 
could  almost  swear  that  she  was  not  alone. 

"What's  that?"  she  muttered,  as  she  heard  the 
muffled  sounds  of  beaten  drums,  so  faint  that  it  seemed 
that  the  barbarian  rumbling  came  across  the  centuries. 

"What's  that!"  re-echoed  her  own  query.  The 
echoes  startled  her  more  than  the  reality  would  have 
done.  Thoughts  of  Ra-mai,  the  tambu  dancer,  of  her 
gods  and  the  terrors  of  the  phantoms  that  haunted 
those  whom  the  tabaran  high  priests  had  tabooed 
flashed  through  her  brain.  Her  bedroom  was  faintly 
lit  up  by  the  light  of  the  oil  lamp  that  fell  over  the 
dilapidated  furniture  and  on  to  her  old  settee  bed.  A 
swarm  of  fire-flies  whirled  and  sparkled  beneath  the 
palms  outside  and  then  were  blown  through  the  open 
casement,  right  into  the  room !  She  swiftly  placed  her 
hands  over  her  eyes,  as  one  might  at  the  sight  of  vivid 
lightning — a  ghostly  flash  leapt  across  the  room  and 
seared  her  very  soul!  The  hot  night  winds  swept 
through  the  palms  outside;  she  heard  them  moan  as 
something  leapt  out  of  the  night  and  clutched  her  heart 
with  its  shadowy  fingers!  In  her  terror  she  swiftly 
looked  up  at  her  mother's  photograph,  as  though  she 
would  rush  to  the  dead  for  companionship.  No  help 
there.  The  faded  eyes  of  that  sad  face  only  stared  in 
immutable  silence  down  from  the  frame  on  the  wall, 


THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL  77 

as  though  in  some  twinship  of  misery.  Gabrielle 
dared  not  turn  her  head.  She  knew  that  something 
stood  there  watching  her.  Another  gust  of  wind 
seemed  to  come  from  the  stars  and  burst  the  half- 
closed  casement  open. 

"Dad!"  she  cried  in  her  terror,  as  she  felt  a  hot 
breath  against  her  face. 

"Dad!"  echoed  the  walls  of  her  room  in  mockery. 

' '  Who  are  you  ? ' '  she  managed  to  wail  out. 

"Who  are  you?"  came  the  relentless  echo. 

She  had  just  caught  sight  of  her  face  in  the  mirror. 
Even  the  fear  of  that  presence  in  the  room  was  some- 
what subdued,  so  unbounded  was  her  astonishment  at 
seeing  the  reflection  that  stared  back  at  her  from  the 
bright  glass — it  was  not  her  own  face  that  she  saw,  but 
the  face  of  a  wildly  beautiful,  dark-blooded  woman ! 

She  stared  again,  paralysed  with  horror.  The  fiery 
eyes  mocked  her  fright  and  astonishment.  Then  the 
expression  changed:  the  face  seemed  to  appeal  and 
smile  half  sadly  at  the  girl. 

It  was  not  a  monstrous  Nothing  that  gazed  upon  her. 
She  turned  to  flee  from  the  terrible  presence.  But  in 
a  second  it  had  leapt  out  of  the  mirror — had  sprung  at 
her !  So  it  seemed  to  the  terrified  girl ;  but  the  figure 
was  standing  behind  her,  staring  into  the  mirror  over 
her  shoulders  like  some  relentless,  cruel  Nemesis 
from  her  helpless  past,  a  hideous  thing  that  had 
searched  for  centuries — and  found  her  at  last ! 

Old  Everard  slept  on.  He  heard  nothing  of  the 
terrible  conflict  in  the  room  three  steps  up,  where  his 
daughter  struggled  in  the  awful  grip  of  that  temptress 
who  had  found  her — a  woman  from  some  long-forgot- 
ten forest  grave  in  the  Malay  Archipelago. 

It  was  not  madness ;  nor  did  the  struggle  exist  only 


78  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

in  her  imagination.  The  sheets  were  torn,  the  counter- 
pane rent  in  twain,  as  that  merciless  phantom  tried 
to  overpower  the  girl. 

Only  those  who  have  been  true  worshippers  in  the 
great  Papuan  tambu  temples  who  have  seen  and  heard 
the  magic  of  the  heritage  rites,  can  guess  what  really 
happened  in  the  girl's  room.  Only  those  who  have 
experienced  a  like  experience  secretly  know  how  she 
felt  as  she  attempted  to  overthrow  that  deadly  visitant. 
For  a  few  seconds  their  two  figures  swayed  in  the  dark. 
The  oil  lamp  had  been  knocked  over !  Then  the  small 
door  of  the  bungalow  suddenly  opened :  Gabrielle  had 
escaped.  She  ran  out  into  the  moon-lit  night!  Just 
for  a  second  she  stood  under  the  windless  palms, 
staring  first  one  way  and  then  another,  as  though  she 
longed  to  leap  over  her  own  shoulders — escape  from 
herself.  Up  the  slopes  she  ran,  and  down  into  the 
distant  hollows  by  Fallamboco.  She  passed  the 
derelict  hut  where  the  high  priest  dreamed  before  he 
died  and  was  buried  just  in  front  of  his  front  door. 
The  broken,  crumbling  wooden  idol  still  stood  on  his 
grave,  its  bulged  glass  eyes  staring  in  immutable  inso- 
lence as  Gabrielle  rushed  by.  She  stopped  by  the 
lagoons  at  Felisi,  where  the  huddled  waters  lay,  the 
sacred  waters  that  washed  the  beautiful  bodies  of  the 
dead  brides  ere  they  were  buried  safe  in  the  highest 
mahogany-tree  of  Bougainville. 

She  was  not  surprised  when  she  stooped  and  gazed 
on  her  reflection  in  the  waters  and  saw  a  second  image 
beside  her  own  in  those  silent  depths.  Standing  there 
in  her  hastily  donned  night  attire,  her  hair  outblown, 
her  chemise  torn  to  rags  at  one  shoulder,  her  blue 
robe  clinging  to  her  delicate  figure,  she  looked  around 
in  Despair,  Only  the  mountains  looked  on  silently 


THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL  79 

as  their  giant  stone  heads  seemed  to  stare  like  Fate 
across  the  desolate  landscape  and  out  to  the  moon-lit 
seas.  She  looked  at  the  sky  and  groped  in  some  blind- 
ness, lifting  her  hands  in  mute  appeal.  Some  past 
heathen  life  possessed  her.  A  crawling,  half-human- 
shaped  cloud  blurred  the  moon 's  face,  falling  suddenly, 
like  a  dark  hand.  It  was  not  a  cloud  to  Gabrielle's 
changed  eyes  as  the  shadow  fell  over  the  weird  land- 
scape; it  was  a  big  thumb  busily  tattooing  the  sky 
as  one  by  one  the  dim  constellations  rebrightened  on 
their  darkened  background. 

She  stood  alert  and  peered  over  her  shoulder,  her 
face  and  eyes  bright  with  startled  delight — she  heard 
the  tribal  drums  beating. 

Those  sound  were  real  enough.  Even  the  young 
apprentice  in  his  room  over  the  hills  jumped  as  he 
heard  the  booming,  then  put  his  head  out  of  his  window 
and  bobbed  it  back,  startled  like  a  frightened  child. 

Gabrielle  recognised  those  sounds.  The  long,  low- 
drawn  chant  was  familiar  to  her  ears.  Softly  they 
came,  weird  undertones  drifting  across  the  silence. 
Like  a  monstrous  rat  that  had  wings,  something 
whirred  across  the  sky  and  gave  a  wretched  groan  as 
it  swept  out  of  sight. 

"Ta  Savoo!  Ta  Savoo!"  ("Come  on!  Come  on!") 
said  a  voice  beside  her.  A  shadowy  hand  was  laid 
upon  her  shoulder.  The  horror  of  that  presence  had 
already  vanished.  She  startled  the  hills  by  bursting 
into  a  silvery  peal  of  laughter;  then  away  she  ran, 
on,  on,  into  the  depths  of  the  forest. 

On  the  brightest  tropic  night  the  forest  depths  were 
dark  with  lurking  mystery;  the  multitudinous  twist- 
ings  of  the  giant  trees  and  their  gnarled  limbs,  all 
thickly  lichened  with  serpent-like  vines,  made  a  won- 


80  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

derful  depth  of  brooding  silence  and  unfathomable 
light,  and  in  the  moonlight  looked  like  some  mighty 
forest  of  twisted  coral  miles  down  under  the  sea. 

White  men  would  sooner  walk  miles  than  pass 
through  those  depths  by  night.  ''No,  thank  ye!  No 

tabooed  b heathen  forest  for  me!"  they  said,  as 

they  gave  a  knowing  glance.  And  none  could  persuade 
them.  Old  Sour  Von  Craut  simply  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  spread  out  his  fat  hands  and  intimated  by 
raised  eyebrows  that  it  was  the  most  natural  thing  on 
earth  to  have  found  the  dead  beachcomber,  with  ears 
and  eyes  missing,  in  the  forests  behind  Felisi  beach. 

Even  Gabrielle  stopped  running,  gave  a  startled 
moan  and  looked  up  in  the  dim  light.  Something 
screamed  and  gave  a  mocking  laugh;  it  was  a  red- 
striped  culture.  The  girl  saw  the  whitened  bones  of 
its  eyrie  as  it  stood  up  and  flapped  its  wings.  For 
it  had  made  its  nest  amongst  a  dead  man's  bones, 
a  grave  up  there  in  the  palms  of  the  tabooed  forest. 
Just  for  a  moment  she  crouched  in  fear,  but  not  because 
of  that  sight  over  her  head.  An  aged  dark  man  with 
a  large  nose  was  passing  along,  not  ten  yards  off, 
chanting  to  himself.  It  was  Oom  Pa,  hurrying  back 
from  the  festival  outside  Parsons 's  grog  shanty.  He 
had  a  bamboo  rod  across  his  shoulders,  Chinese  fash- 
ion, wherefrom  his  calabashes  swung  as  he  disappeared 
in  the  depth  beyond.  In  a  few  seconds  Gabrielle  was 
off  again.  She  had  been  that  way  before,  so  knew 
the  near  cuts  to  the  villages  and  tambu  temples.  As 
she  ran  out  of  the  bamboo  thickets  she  caught  a  first 
glimpse  of  the  hanging  lamps.  A  breath  of  wind  had 
swept  through  the  forest,  blowing  the  thick,  dark 
leaves  aside  that  made  the  natural  taboo  curtain  to 
the  festival  spot.  She  saw  the  whirling  figures  of  the 


THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL  81 

taxnbu  maiden  dancers.  She  heard  the  weird  music 
of  the  flutes  and  twanging  stringed  gourds.  The 
chants  only  increased  the  wild  feeling  of  savagery  that 
was  delighting  her  soul.  She  did  not  hesitate,  but 
deliberately  pushed  aside  the  bamboo  stems  and  stood 
in  the  presence  of  that  secret  midnight  throng  of 
sacred  worshippers  and  the  great  tambu  priests.  For 
a  moment  the  dark  heathen  men  and  affrighted  women 
stared  from  their  squatting  mats  in  astonishment, 
the  expression  on  their  faces  strangely  resembling  the 
carved  surprise  of  the  big  wooden,  one-toothed  idol 
that  stood  six  feet  high,  staring  with  glass  eyes  from 
behind  the  taboo  stage.  Even  the  dancing  tambu 
maidens  swerved  slightly  in  their  sacred  movements, 
their  steps  put  out  of  gear  as  Gabrielle,  with  hands 
uplifted,  and  eyes  staring  strangely,  appeared  before 
that  pae  pae. 

The  head  priest  coughed  in  astonishment;  then  he 
rose  and  wailed  out :  ' '  Taboo !  She  is  white,  and  such 
are  tabooed  by  the  gods ! ' ' 

As  he  brought  his  club  down  with  a  crash,  anger 
came  into  the  dark  eyes  of  the  sacred  chiefesses,  who 
had  leapt  to  their  feet,  all  disturbed  while  they  had 
been  paying  obeisance  to  the  wooden  Idol  Quat  (chief 
god  of  the  skies) .  It  was  a  specially  private  occasion, 
only  the  greatly  trusted  allowed  to  attend.  One  stal- 
wart chief  stepped  forward  as  though  he  intended 
slaying  the  girl  on  the  spot.  Old  Oom  Pa,  who  had 
barely  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow  and  flung 
down  his  calabashes  of  bribes,  gazed  with  as  much 
surprise  as  anyone  on  Gabrielle.  Then,  seeing  that 
harm  might  come  to  the  girl,  he  hastily  stepped  forward 
and  said:  "Hold,  O  chiefs;  this  papalagi  has  that  in 
her  eyes  which  tells  she  is  under  the  influence  of  our 
6 


82  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

gods.  And,  therefore,  is  she  not  one  of  us?"  He 
swiftly  turned  and  said  something  in  the  guttural 
language  of  his  tribe.  Whatever  he  said  was  for 
Gabrielle's  benefit,  for  it  greatly  calmed  the  fears  of 
the  huddled  dark  men  and  their  women-kind.  In  a 
moment  the  fierce  resentment  towards  Gabrielle 
changed  to  wild  grunts  of  welcome.  One  aged  priest 
who  was  grovelling  on  his  stomach  before  the  dwarf 
taboo  idols  that  were  receiving  the  sacred  slanting 
moonbeams  through  the  palms  prostrated  himself  at 
Gabrielle's  feet.  The  white1  girl  looked  round  her  like 
one  who  stared  in  a  dream,  then  she  gave  a  merry  peal 
of  laughter.  The  handsome,  tattooed  braves  who  stood 
leaning  on  the  palm  stems  gave  a  hushed  cry  of  ad- 
miration as  they  saw  the  girl  standing,  bathed  in  moon- 
beams, her  hair  wildly  dishevelled,  her  eyes  like  stars, 
her  arms  as  white  as  coral  as  she  made  mystical  move- 
ments in  a  dance  they  did  not  know.  The  old  priest, 
who  was  at  her  feet,  lifted  his  face  and  chanted  some 
prayer  to  her  eyes. 

This  act  of  the  priest  made  the  chiefs  and  chiefesses 
think  that  the  girl  was  there  by  special  decree  of  their 
kai-kai  (sacred  moon  gods).  In  a  moment  the  whole 
tribe  had  followed  the  priest's  act,  had  surrounded  the 
girl  and  were  moaning  and  grovelling  at  her  feet. 

* '  Tala  Marama  Taraban ! "  ( "  'Tis  a  spirit-girl ! " ) 
they  whispered  in  an  awestruck  voice  as  they  lifted 
their  chins  and  stared  at  the  girl 's  vacant  eyes.  The 
peculiar  stare  of  those  wonderful  blue  eyes  intensified 
their  superstitious  belief. 

Two  of  the  chiefs  rose,  nodded  their  heads,  wTailed, 
and  said :  ' '  She  has  been  here  before,  0  brothers ! ' ' 

The  tambu  maidens  had  now  stopped  dancing. 
The  barbarian  flutes  had  ceased  their  wailings,  not  a 


THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL  83 

drum  note  disturbed  the  hush  as  the  wild,  swarthy 
men  gazed  on  Gabrielle  and  the  aged  priest  chanted 
into  her  ears. 

The  girl  seemed  to  be  dimly  conscious  of  the  reverent 
homage  those  wild  men  and  women  paid  her  as  they 
fell  on  their  faces  before  her.  She  looked  down  with 
a  dream-like  stare  on  their  muscular  brown  bodies,  on 
their  richly  shelled  ramis,  their  red-feathered  headgear. 

"Savoo!  Savoo!"  ("Goon!  Goon!  Dance  for 
us!")  they  almost  whispered,  as  they  turned  their 
shaggy  heads  and  peered  into  the  depths  of  the  forest, 
half  in  terror  and  pleasurable  anticipation  of  what 
the  girl  might  do. 

For  a  moment  Gabrielle  swayed,  clapped  her  hands 
softly  as  a  prelude,  then  chanted.  Then  she  swiftly 
glided  towards  the  tambu  elevation.  In  a  moment 
the  tambu  maidens  had  jumped  down,  soft-footed, 
on  to  the  mossy  floor  before  the  sacred  erection. 
Gabrielle  had  leapt  on  to  the  stage!  The  skulls  and 
skeleton  bones  and  other  gruesome  ritual  objects  that 
dangled  on  boughs  just  above  her  head  swayed  to 
the  hot  night  breeze,  all  tinkling  weirdly  as  she  stood 
for  a  moment  in  dreamy  hesitation.  Then  she  gave  a 
silvery  peal  of  laughter.  She  had  begun  to  move  hither 
and  thither  as  though  in  a  dream,  swaying  to  and  fro 
with  marvellous  delicacy  and  grace.  Never  before 
had  those  chiefs  seen  so  weird,  so  wonderful  a  sight  or 
heard  a  voice  chant  their  wild  melodies  with  such 
strange  effect.  They  all  stared.  Even  the  tambu 
maidens  stood  as  though  riveted  to  the  forest  floor 
in  envious  wonder.  A  drum  began  softly  to  beat  out 
the  tribal  notes,  "Too  Woomb!  Too  Woomb!"  in 
perfect  tempo  to  the  girl 's  shifting  faery-like  footsteps. 
Suddenly  the  aged  high  priest,  Pooma  Malo,  fell 


84  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

prostrate  before  his  tambu  idol  and  began  to  chant, 
so  great  was  his  fear.  The  whole  assemblage  were 
trembling  like  wind-blown  shadows.  They  had  all 
noticed  the  silent,  shadowy  woman  who  stood  beside 
the  white  girl  on  the  pae  pae  mimicking  her  every 
movement,  as  it,  too,  bobbed  rhythmically  to  and  fro, 
moving  its  feet  noiselessly  behind  her  across  that 
pae  pae  before  them  all. 

Two  of  the  tambu  maidens  and  one  dusky  youth 
jumped  to  their  feet  and  bolted  off  into  the  forest 
in  fright.  The  giant  wooden  idol  just  behind  the 
shadow-figure  gave  a  wide  carven  grin  from  ear  to  ear 
as  a  shaft  of  moonlight  fell  across  its  hideous  face. 
A  handsome,  plucky  young  chief  stepped  forward. 
He  was  adorned  with  the  insignias  and  decorations  of 
the  fetish  rites.  He  leapt  straight  on  to  the  pae  pae. 
Under  the  influence  of  the  white,  girl's  dance  he  too 
swayed  his  arms  and  chanted,  as  only  men  of  his  race 
can  dance  and  chant. 

Gabrielle  looked  up  at  him,  a  strange  light  in  her 
eyes.  He  reminded  her  of  the  Rajah.  She  lifted  her 
arms  in  response  to  the  handsome  young  chief's  ges- 
ticulations asi  he  careened  by  her  in  the  mystical  cross- 
passes  of  the  ritual  dance.  She  lifted  her  mouth  to  his. 
The  tribal  chiefs  saw  the  strange  look  of  the  girl 's  eyes 
and  at  once  smothered  the  cry  of  "Awai!  0  lao  Mia!" 
the  old  tribal  exclamation  that  would  express  their 
innermost  feelings.  The  elder  priests  stood  open- 
mouthed,  leaning  against  their  idols  in  fear  and 
trembling,  as  though  they  would  ask  their  protection. 

The  impassioned  warrior  chief  grew  bolder,  and  held 
Gabrielle 's  delicate  figure  in  a  swerving  embrace. 
His  dark  mouth  came  close  to  her  ear,  murmuring 
words  of  magic  that  she  could  not  understand.  Even 


THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL  85 

the  idol  seemed  to  stare  its  surprise  as  he  lifted  one 
white  arm  and  touched  the  soft  flesh  with  his  lips. 
And  still  the  tambu  flute-players  blew  on,  for  they  too 
had  come  under  the  speel  of  that  strange  sight,  where 
the  two  races  clung  together  and  chanted  mysteriously 
to  each  other.  Then  the  chief  untwined  his  swarthy 
arms  from  that  embrace  and,  falling  forward  on  one 
knee,  placed  his  lips  to  her  feet.  He  was  eager  to  press 
his  extraordinary  advantage.  To  kiss  a  maid's  feet 
is  the  first  act  the  happy  warrior  performs  when  a 
maid  favours  his  presence  on  a  tambu  stage.  But  he 
found  that  her  feet  were  covered.  In  a  moment  he  had 
pushed  her  robe  aside  and  had  begun  to  remove  one 
of  her  small,  blue-bowed  sandals. 

Just  for  a  moment  the  white  girl's  face  seemed  to 
betray  the  light  of  vanity  over  this  act  of  the  young 
chief.  Then  he  lifted  her  foot  once  again,  to  his  lips, 
and  immediately  Gabrielle's  expression  changed.  She 
stared  around  her  in  astonishment,  looked  with  a 
dream-like  stare  back  into  the  eyes  of  the  giant  warrior 
who  was  caressing  her  and  at  the  swarthy  men  and 
women  who  stood  under  the  coco-nut-oil  lamps  watch- 
ing in  front  of  the  pae  pae  stage.  They  knew  that  the 
cry  she  gave  was  one  of  terror,  for  Gabrielle  had  awak- 
ened ;  her  soul  had  been  asleep. 

The  young  chief  who  had  danced  with  her  suddenly 
cowered  away  from  her  side ;  then  he  jumped  in  the 
opposite  direction  as  she  leapt  from  the  pae  pae. 

"Taboo!"  whispered  the  astonished  chief  esses  as 
the  wind  sighed  mournfully  across  the  forest  height 
and  flickered  the  bluish  flames  of  the  hanging  lamps. 

"She  would  tempt  our  menkind!"  yelled  a  deep- 
bosomed  chiefess  as  she  leapt  forward,  her  head-dress 
feathers  swaying  violently. 


86  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

One  or  two  of  the  older  chiefs  put  forth  their  dusky 
hands  as  though  they  would  clutch  her  in  their  anger. 
In  a  moment  Ooin  Pa  lifted  his  dark  fist  and  bade  none 
touch  her.  Placing  his  tawny  hand  on  his  tattooed 
chest,  just  where  his  sun-tanned  skin  encased  his 
thumping  heart,  he  muttered  solemn-sounding  under- 
tones that  told  the  assembled  tambu.  watchers  to  leave 
the  girl  to  him. 

Gabrielle  looked  round  on  those  fierce-eyed  men  and 
women  in  terror.  She  saw  that  look  in  the  eyes  of 
old  Oom  Pa  which  told  her  that  he,  at  least,  had  her 
welfare  deep  in  his  heart.  The  lines  of  tambu  maidens 
divided,  and  moved  back  half  in  fright  as  Gabrielle 
made  a  dash  and  passed  by  them. 

"Stay,  O  papalagi  maid,"  said  Oom  Pa,  as  he  too 
moved  back  into  the  recesses  of  the  forest  and,  stay- 
ing her  flight,  said:  "O  white  maid,  you  come  to 
tambu  dance  before,  I  knower  you.  I  know,  too,  that 
you  no  belonger  to  our  race."  Then  he  rubbed  his 
wrinkled  face,  looked  at  her  sternly  and  proceeded: 
"Kemember  that  great  trouble  may  come  to  one  who 
comer  to  our  full-moon  rites  unasked.  Savvy?" 

Gabrielle  nodded.  She  could  not  speak  as  she  stood 
there  trembling  from  head  to  feet.  Then  the  old 
priest  looked  quietly  in  her  eyes  and  said:  "Tell  me, 
0  white  maid,  who  was  she  with  skin  dark  as  the  night, 
eyes  like  unto  stars  and  cloudy,  flowing  hair  as  she 
dance  on  pae  pae  stage  with  you,  mimicking  you  like 
a  spirit-shadow  ? ' ' 

"With  me!"  exclaimed  the  girl  in  a  startled,  hushed 
voice,  as  she  looked  round  into  the  forest  depth  in  a 
great  fear. 

"Wither  you!"  reiterated  Oom  Pa.  Then  he  said: 
"You  knower  not  that  such  a  spirit-shadow  dancer 


THE  SOUL'S  RIVAL  87 

with  you  and  laugher  when  you  place  your  lips  'gainst 
those  of  our  taboo  warrior  ?  La  Umano  ? ' ' 

So  spake  old  Oom  Pa,  as  the  light  of  the  moon  and 
superstitition  lit  up  his  wrinkled  face.  Before  he  could 
say  more  Gabrielle  had  fled  in  fear  from  his  presence. 

She  had  no  recollection  of  the  way  of  her  flight  back 
to  her  father's  bungalow.  Her  feet  went  swiftly,  like 
pattering  rain,  over  the  forest  floor  as  she  ran  from  her 
fear  and  shame.  And  only  God  knows  the  thoughts 
of  her  sad  heart  as  she  entered  her  father's  homestead 
in  the  dead  of  night  and  crept  into  her  little  civilised 
bed  to  sleep. 

Was  it  imagination?  Well,  whoever  you  may  be, 
go  to  Bougainville,  look  into  the  wonderful  eyes  of 
those  half-caste  women  who  happen  to  have  the  blood 
of  the  white,  Papuan  and  Polynesian  races  mixed  in 
their  veins,  fall  in  love  with  such  a  one,  hold  her  in 
your  arms  by  night  and  watch  for  the  shadow ! — listen 
for  the  rustle  of  the  old  life  that  revelled  in  the  magic 
of  the  tambu  and  maidia  temples,  the  altars  of  heathen 
passion  and  enchantment, 


ON  the  morning  following  Gabrielle's  terrible 
experience  old  Everard  sat  bathing  his  head 
in  a  calabash  of  sea-water.  It  considerably 
revived  his  numbed  sense.  Then  he  blew  his  nose 
fiercely  and,  stumping  his  wooden  leg  with  tremendous 
irritability,  sat  down  to  breakfast.  Suddenly,  as  he 
was  munching,  he  looked  up,  wondering  what  on  earth 
was  the  matter  with  his  daughter.  Her  dress  was  torn, 
her  face  looked  pale  and  haggard,  her  eyes  full  of 
drowsy  fright  and  some  haunting  fear.  She  looked 
years  older  than  when  she  had  retired  the  night  before. 
The  expression  on  her  face  was  one  of  infinite  sorrow. 
The  lips  kept  trembling.  The  old  man,  completely 
lacking  in  imagination,  could  see  nothing  of  the  pathos, 
the  absolute  wretchedness  of  the  girl's  expression.  He 
summed  up  the  whole  business  according  to  his  own 
feelings. 

"Did  you  drink  rum  last  night? — get  drunk? 
What's  the  matter?"  said  he,  as  he  concluded  by 
munching  fast  at  his  bread  and  toasted  cheese. 

"You  were  drunk,"  said  the  girl,  squeezing  the 
words  out  with  an  effort  as  her  voice  cracked. 

"Wha'  you  think  of  Rajah  Koo  Macka,  gal,  eh?" 

"Not  much,"  she  responded.  Her  mouth  visibly 
twitched  as  she  turned  her  eyes  from  the  stupid,  in- 
quiring parental  gaze. 

"Nice  fellow  'im;  believes  in  God,  Christ  and  in 
virginity.  Rajahs  ain't  knocking  about  everywhere, 


MUSIC  OF  ROMANCE  89 

Gabby  old  gal,  either,"  he  continued,  as  he  gave  a 
wink.  Then  he  added:  ''It's  wonderful  how  people 
who  was  once  'eathens  seems  to  be  the  most  relygous 
folk;  they  seems  to  'ave  a  real  faith  in  goodness  'o 
things,  that's  what  it  is." 

Gabrielle  still  kept  silent,  hardly  hearing  at  all  as  the 
old  idiot  rambled  on  in  this  wise :  "  'E  's  got  ther  brass 
too !  Going  to  'ire  me  to  go  on  a  pearl-hunting  scheme 
in  the  Admiralty  Group.  'E  knows  Z  know  where  the 
pearls  are  found.  He,  he ! " 

Suddenly  the  man  ceased  his  wild  talk  and  looked 
at  the  girl  quizzically  for  a  second,  then  said: 
"Gabrielle,  you're!  a  woman  now,  don't  yef  feel  like 
one?" 

At  this,  to  the  old  man's  astonishment,  the  girl 
burst  into  tears. 

"What  on  earth  'ave  I  said,"  he  mumbled,  as  his 
eyes  lost  the  bleared,  rum-dirn  look,  and  he  tapped  his 
wooden  leg.  Something  that  slept  deep  down  in  his 
heart  stirred  in  its  long  slumber:  "Don't  cry,  girlie. 
Aren't  you  well?" 

Even  he  saw  the  faint  appeal  of  those  violet-blue 
eyes. 

"Who's  torn  your  dress?"  he  said,  as  he  struggled 
against  the  impulse  that  he  felt,  for  he  had  put  forth 
his  arms  to  draw  the  girl  to  him.  But  he  didn't  do  so. 

Pouring  a  little  more  Jamaica  rum  into  his  tea,  he 
swallowed  it,  smacked  his  lips  and  said:  "Don't 
grissel.  I'm  not  going  to  bully  you  for  tearing  your 
clothes.  S'pose  you've  been  arambling  'bout  ther 
scrub  at  yer  old  games,  admiring  ther  beauties  of 
Nathure?"  He  pursed  his  lips  and  gave  a  cynical 
grin  as  he  made  the  foregoing  remark.  Then  he  con- 


90  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

tinned :  "I  saw  you  t'other  day  talking  to  that  blasted 
runaway  ship's  apprentice,  'Illary,  I  think  they  call 
'im.  Do  yer  want  to  disgrace  your  old  father  by 
talking  to  ther  likes  of  'im,  a  damned  penniless, 
stranded  runaway  apprentice,  nothing  but  a  fiddler 
with  a  shabby,  brass-bound  suit  on!" 

Then  the  old  evangelical  zealot  of  vagabon  gospel 
and  the  best  Jamaica  rum  put  his  big-rimmed  hat  on, 
looked  at  the  clock  and  went  stumping  down  the  track 
by  the  palms  to  look  after  the  Kanakas  who  were  em- 
ployed on  the  copra,  coffee  and  pine-apple  plantations. 

As  soon  as  the  sounds  of  his  stumping  footsteps 
had  died  away  the  pretty  native  girl,  "Wanga-woo," 
from  Setiwao  village,  made  her  characteristic  somer- 
sault through  the  front  door.  She  had  come  to  tidy 
the  bungalow  in  her  usual  way.  Even  that  nymph- 
like  creature  looked  sideways  at  Gabrielle,  noticed  the 
pallor  of  her  face  and  wondered  at  the  absence  of  the 
usual  cheery  salutation  that  had  always  greeted  her. 
It  took  the  native  child  no  time  to  tidy  up.  Then  she 
ran  outside  the  homestead  and  returned  with  her  big 
market  basket  full  of  luscious  tropical  fruits :  mangoes, 
two  big  over-ripe  pine-apples,  limes  and  reddish 
oranges  lying  on  their  own  dark  green  leaves. 

"You  liker  them,  Misser  Gaberlel?  They  belonger 
nicer  you!" 

The  native  child's  voice  and  action  cheered  up 
Everard's  daughter  wonderfully.  Then,  as  she  lay 
down  on  the  parlour  settee  to  rest  her  aching  head,  she 
heard  the  little  maid  running  away  into  the  forest, 
back  to  her  village,  singing : 

"  Willy-wa  noo,  Woo-le  woo  wail-o, 
Cowana  te  o  le  suva.  mango-te  ma  bak ! " 


91 

Then  the  sound  died  away  and  Gabrielle  felt  glad 
to  hear  it  no  longer,  and  lying  there  thinking  and 
thinking,  and  softly  crying  to  herself,  she  fell  fast 
asleep,  and  slept  through  most  of  the  hot  tropical  day. 
When  she  awoke  sunset  had  already  fired  the  mountain 
palms.  As  she  sat  on  the  bamboo  seat  by  the  door 
she  heard  her  father's  voice.  She  knew  he  was  drunk ; 
the  rollicking,  hoarse  intonation  of  his  song  was  un- 
mistakable as  the  sounds  came  nearer.  He  had  been 
away  to  the  plantations  to  see  Rajah  Koa  Macka,  who 
was  supposed  to  be  purchasing  a  lot  of  copra  for 
cargo  for  his  ship  that  lay  off  Bougainville. 

In  a  moment  the  girl  had  made  up  her  mind,  had 
risen  and  run  off  into  the  forest.  Sunset  was  sending 
its  golden  streams  across  the  banyan  groves  as  she 
passed  under  the  giant  trees  that  were  smothered  with 
huge  scarlet  blossoms.  Already  the  koo-koo  owl  had 
stolen  from  the  deeper  shadows  and  was  hooting 
forth  its  "To  woo — to-woo-woo ! ' ' 

"I  wish  I  hadn't  overslept,"  she  murmured  to 
herself  as  she  felt  a  longing  to  see  one  of  her  own  sex. 
For  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  go  around  the  coast 

to  see  Mrs.  S ,  the  German  missionary 's  wife.  She 

was  a  cold-eyed  white  woman,  this  missionary's  wife, 
but  still,  she  was  white.  Gabrielle  had  thought  to 
tell  her  of  the  terrible  shadow  that  had  come  to  her 
in  the  night,  and  had  hoped  for  her  sympathy  and 
advice.  She  would  have  gone  even  then,  but  she  knew 
that  the  white  woman's  residence  was  miles  round  the 
coast  and  it  would  be  quite  dark  before  she  arrived 

there.  She  also  remembered  that  Mrs.  S was  a 

terrible  coward  and  would  not  venture  from  her 
husband's  bungalow  after  dark  on  account  of  the 
rumours  going  about  that  tabarans  (evil  spirits)  lurked 


92  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

in  the  forests  when  the  tambu  worshippers  were 
chanting  their  sacred  rites. 

Even  Gabrielle  shivered  in  fright  when  she  thought 
of  the  tambu  worshippers  and  the  strange  look  of  fear 
on  the  faces  of  the  dead  who  were  found  in  the  moun- 
tain forests  after  certain  festivals.  It  was  some  kind  of 
religious  sect  who  offered  terrible  sacrifices  to  the 
tabarans  and  the  ceremony  was  something  after  the 
style  of  the  Vaudoux  worship  as  described  by  M.  de 
St.  Mery  in  his  work  on  Vaudoux  cannibalistic  fetishes 
in  Haiti. 

When  those  fetishes  were  in  full  swing  they  could 
hear  the  chanting  away  down  in  Rokeville  during  the 
silence  of  the  night.  "Ach!"  the  Germans  would 
say  as  they  listened  to  the  far-away  shrieks  in  the 
mountain  citadels :  children  being  clubbed  and  offered 
up  in  thanksgiving  song  and  frenzied  dances  at  the 
altars  of  indescribable  orgy.  And  the  knowledge  that 
such  things  happened  within  easy  walking  distance 
from  her  bungalow  made  Gabrielle  careful  about 
roaming  too  far  after  dark.  She  turned  from  the 
denser  forest  and  made  up  her  mind  to  go  through 
the  light  jungle  that  separated  her  from  the  pictur- 
esque shores  and  lagoons  to  the  south-west.  As  she  ran 
along  the  silvery  track  she  looked  fearfully  into  the 
shadows  of  the  huge  buttressed  banyans.  Her  imagina- 
tion, vividly  alive  through  her  terrible  experience  the 
night  before,  made  her  fancy  she  heard  something 
running  swiftly  beside  her  in  the  jungle.  She  suddenly 
stopped  and  trembled  from  head  to  feet  as  the  sounds 
of  running  footsteps  stopped  also.  ' '  Dear  God,  what 
have  I  done  ? ' '  she  wailed  out  in  terror.  In  a  moment 
she  had  rushed  off,  and  bounding  over  the  logs  of  the 
deserted  dcibos  (huts)  came  to  the  cleared  spaces 
where  the  scattered  ivory-nut  palms  grew.  She  looked 


MUSIC  OF  ROMANCE  93 

round  with  relief  as  she  thought  of  that  dreadful  hol- 
low that  had  so  strangely  re-echoed  her  own  footsteps. 
Again  she  ran  off;  her  fears  left  her  and  she  began 
to  sing.  The  sight  of  the  dotted  huts  of  the  native 
homestead  on  the  far-away  shore  revived  her  spirits. 
The  rich  blue  of  the  departing  day  shone  on  the 
horizon  and  seemed  strangely  to  influence  her  thoughts. 
The  sough  of  the  winds  in  the  palms  near  by  had 
rich  music  for  her  ears  as  she  listened.  "What's 
that?"  she  murmured,  as  she  stood  perfectly  still. 
It  was  not  the  sound  of  beating  tribal  drums  this  time : 
she  leaned  forward  and  listened  again,  as  though  her 
very  soul  would  drink  in  that  faint,  far-off  sound. 
It  came  again,  softly,  a  wailing,  silvery  sound  moving 
on  the  warm  sea  wind.  No  fear  leapt  into  her  eyes, 
no  agitation  came  to  her  limbs.  An  intensely  beautiful 
expression  seemed  to  light  up  her  face  as  her  heart  as 
well  as  her  ears  heard  those  sweet  sounds.  The  very 
palms  just  over  her  head  moaned  a  tender  con  anima 
tenerezza  accompaniment  as  it  came,  a  sweet-throbbing, 
long-drawn  tremulous  wail.  Tears  sprang  into  her 
eyes  as  she  listened  to  the  strain  of  melancholy  in  the 
thin  silvery  voice  that  drifted  beneath  the  tropic  stars. 
It  was  the  "Miserere"  from  11  Trovatore. 

It  was  Hillary  who  felt  the  embarrassment  of  the 
moment  as  she  ran  out  from  beneath  the  palms.  He 
had  not  really  expected  the  girl  to  turn  up  that  eve- 
ning, although  she  had  asked  him  to  play  his  violin  at 
that  very  spot  so  that  she  might  chance  to  hear  him. 
The  apprentice  felt  a  trifle  foolish  as  he  dropped  his  in- 
strument and  gazed  at  the  girl.  It  struck  him  that 
he  had  been  a  party  to  a  sentimental  by-play  out  of 
some  romantic  novel  or  scene  on  the  stage.  He  gave 
a  sheepish  grin  that  would  have  been  quite  out  of  place 
even  had  it  been  a  stage  performance.  As  for  Gabrielle, 


94  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

she  revelled  in  the  romance  of  that  meeting.  She 
gazed  into  Hillary 's  eyes,  more  like  a  child  than  ever, 
as  she  sat  there  on  the  same  banyan  bough  where  she 
had  first  sung  to  Hillary  when  the  Homeric  intruder 
had  so  suddenly  disturbed  them.  As  the  apprentice 
looked  at  the  girl  he  noticed  how  haggard  she  was. 
As  though  to  ward  off  his  critical  gaze,  she  swiftly 
turned  her  head  and  murmured:  "How  romantic  to 
hear  you  play  your  violin  in  the  distance  like  that." 
Then  she  added  coyly:  "It's  as  though  we  are  two 
passionate  lovers  meeting,  just  like  they  meet  in  Spain 
and  Italy — you  know,  in  the  books, ' '  she  added,  as  she 
gazed  half  sadly  in  the  apprentice's  face.  Hillary 
tried  to  hide  his  true  feelings  by  joking  about  her 
brown  stocking.  She  laughed.  Then  as  the  darkness 
deepened  Hillary  became  bolder  and  pressed  his  lips 
on  her  hand.  The  girl  responded  by  pressing  his 
fingers.  He  gazed  steadily  into  her  eyes ;  he  wondered 
why  they  looked  so  beautiful  and  wild.  He  had 
noticed  the  same  expression  before.  He  did  not  stare 
with  vulgar  surprise;  he  simply  pressed  the  girl's 
hand  in  instinctive  sympathy.  He  knew  that  some 
fear  haunted  her  soul.  His  love  for  Gabrielle  had 
strangely  blinded  him  to  worldly  things,  but  had  gifted 
him  with  an  inward  sight  that  made  him  wonderfully 
sympathetic.  Just  for  a  second  he  felt  a  tremendous 
premonition  of  all  that  was  coming  to  pass  in  his  life 
through  his  affection  for  the  girl  by  his  side.  In 
another  moment  his  natural  gaiety  had  returned.  He 
half  laughed  to  himself  as  he  felt  the  wonder  of  all 
that  he  was  experiencing  in  a  place  where  white  girls 
wore  two  expressions,  laughed  in  one  breath  and  stared 
in  fright  in  the  next. 

Gabrielle  was  staring  into  his  eyes  as  though  she 
were  asleep  and  yet  had  her  eyes  open.    Her  face  was 


MUSIC  OF  ROMANCE 


95 


pallid ;  she  had  released  her  hand  from  his ;  she  was  still 
singing  the  song  she  had  begun  when  her  expression 
changed  before  the  apprentice 's  astonished  eyes. 

"God!  what  is  that  weird,  beautiful  melody  that 
you  are  singing,  Gabrielle?"  said  he,  as  he  came 
under  the  influence  of  her  voice.  All  the  European 
music  that  he  knew  was  as  nothing  compared  to  the 
painful  soul  of  melody  that  lingered  in  the  strain  that 
the  girl  extemporised. 

As  she  still  sang  and  swayed  by  him  in  the  shadows 
he  swiftly  opened  his  violin-case,  but  very  softly,  as 
though  he  feared  to  frighten  the  song  away  from  her 
lips.  He  drew  the  bow  gently,  caressingly,  con 
tenerezza,  across  the  responsive  strings  and  played. 

A.  S.-M. 


r» 


:R=S 


9  *  *_ 


Mia  Ta  •  lo  -  fa,  the  chiefs  are  sleep  -  ing,  The  seas  in  moon-light 


aing, 


My  eyes  are  dream-  ing,  the  winds  are  creep  •  ing,  Dead 


96  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

roB. 


IST  VOICE. 


Winds  sigh-ing  by  me,  my  Ma  -la-bar  m&id,     Dn-der  the   co    -    co 

2ND  VOICE. 


Winds  sigh-ing  by  me,  my  Ha -la-bar  maid,      Un-der  the   co    -    co 


MUSIC  OF  ROMANCE 


97 


Here,  thro'  the  night  on  my  breast  in    the 


Here,  thro' the  night  on  my  breast  in    the 


Etc. 

It  was  very  late  when  Hillary  walked  back  with 
Gabrielle  to  see  her  home.  Even  the  shouts  from  the 
festivals  of  the  heathen  villages  had  subsided,  only 
coming;  to  their  ears  in  dismal  wails  and  tom-tom 
beatings.  Gabrielle  felt  no  fear  of  the  dark  forest 
as  they  hurried  along  the  silver  track  with  the 
big-trunked  trees  clearly  outlined  in  the  brilliant 
moonlight. 

"You  mustn't  get  nervous  and  allow  your  brain 
to  have  such  curious  fancies,  Gabrielle,"  said  the 
young  apprentice  as  the  girl  clung  tightly  to  his  arm 
at  the  dodgings  of  their  own  monstrous  silhouettes. 

At  length  they  arrived  outside  old  Everard  's  bunga- 
low. All  was  quiet. 

"Good-night,  Gabrielle,"  said  Hillary,  as  he  leaned 
forward,  half  inclined  to  say:  "Dearest,  may  I  kiss 
you?"  During  the  last  two  hours,  however,  he  had 
been  too  much  worried  about  something  that  he  knew 

7 


98  GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

not  of  to  have  made  such  headway  in  his  advances. 
Notwithstanding  his  wish,  he  only  took  her  hand  and 
gazed  into  her  eyes,  and  made  her  promise  to  keep  the 
next  appointment  without  fail.  And  she  promised. 
Then  he  said:  "Don't  look  so  scared,  he's  asleep. 
Surely  you're  not  afraid  of  your  father  like  this?" 
Then  he  added:  "I'll  wait  outside  here  and  have  a 
snooze  beneath  the  palms  till  I  think  that  you  are 
fast  asleep ! ' ' 

Gabrielle  didn't  laugh  at  such  a  suggestion,  as  she 
might  have  done  two  nights  before!  Indeed,  she 
pressed  his  hand  in  almost  hysterical  thankfulness. 
Hillary  wondered  why  she  should  be  so  frightened, 
why  she  should  look  so  delighted  after  looking  so 
scared.  ' '  God  in  heaven !  the  girl 's  madly  in  love  with 
me ! "  was  the  delighted  thought  that  flashed  through 
his  brain. 

Gabrielle  crept  indoors.  She  heard  her  father's  snor- 
ing as  she  softly  opened  her  bedroom  door  and  entered 
the  room.  She  went  straight  to  the  small  casement 
that  opened  on  the  feathery  palms  and  distant  moon-lit 
seas.  She  pushed  aside  the  big  hibiscus  blossoms  and 
peered  down.  Her  heart  fluttered  with  some  half-fierce 
delight  as  she  saw  that  form  reclining  beneath  the 
palms:  it  was  the  penniless,  stranded  sea  apprentice 
watching  outside  his  South  Sea  princess's  castle. 

With  some  great  light  warming  her  heart  Gabrielle 
crept  into  bed  and  fell  fast  asleep,  and  so  another  night 
passed.  It  was  only  in,  the  morning  that  old  Everard 
said:  "Where  the  'ell  were  yer  last  night?  I  wish 
ter  blazes  ye  'd  come  buck  before  it 's  dark.  I  'm  damned 
if  there  wasn't  a  shadder  a-knocking  about  'ere  last 
night!" 

"No,  Dad!"  said  Gabrielle. 


MUSIC  OF  ROMANCE  99 

"Yus!"  said  the  old  man  with  terrible  vehemence. 
Then  he  added:  "That  old  barman  up  at  Parsons 's 
is  a  blamed  liar ;  he  swore  that  the  last  case  I  bought 
was  the  best  Jamaica  rum.  And  yer  don 't  see  shadders 
after  drinking  ther  best  Jamaica,  that  yer  don 't ! " 

The  old  ex-sailor  rambled  on  as  he  beat  a  violent 
tattoo  on  the  floor  of  the  bungalow  with  his  wooden  leg. 

As  for  Hillary,  he  didn  't  get  home  till  sunrise,  so  he 
slept  till  near  midday. 

"Papalagi!  Maser  Hill-e-ary!"  roared  Madame 
Tamboo,  his  landlady,  as  she  banged  his  bedroom  door 
with  a  ponderous  bamboo  stick. 

"All  ri'!"  answered  the  sleepy  young  apprentice. 
Then  he  jumped  up.  Hie  was  out  and  about  in  two 
ticks,  for  he  had  slept  "all-standing." 

He  couldn't  keep  calm  that  day.  Mango  Pango 
the  maid-of-all-work,  opened  her  bright  eyes  with 
delight  as  he  paid  her  pretty  compliments  over  her 
beauty.  "Ah,  what  nice  papalagi!"  she  said,  as  she 
looked  sideways  in  the  German  mirror  at  her  image. 
True  enough,  she  had  fine  eyes  and  features  that  were 
quite  different  from  those  of  the  full-blooded  Solomon 
natives.  Like  most  Polynesian  girls,  she  was  extremely 
romantic  and  imaginative.  She  lifted  her  eyes  towards 
the  roof  in  childish  ecstasy  when  Hillary  laughingly 
admired  her  yellow  stockings  and  told  her  that  she 
reminded  him  of  Cleopatra. 

"Who  Cleopatra?"  Mango  Pango  said.  Then 
Hillary  told  her  a  lot  about  the  doings  of  Antony,  who 
loved  Cleopatra. 

"She  and  nicer  Antony  still  liver  in  Peratania 
England?" 

' '  Xo,  they  're  both  dead, ' '  said  Hillary  mournfully. 

"Oh  dear!  poor  tings!"  said  Mango  Pango  sym- 


100          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

pathetically.  Then  she  looked  into  the  apprentice's 
eyes  and  said  coquettishly :  "Was  Cleopatra  a  bery 
beautif uls  woman,  Mounsieur  ? ' ' 

"Most  beautiful  woman  in  the  whole  world,  just 
like  you,"  said  Hillary. 

So  would  they  talk  together;  and  the  pretty  native 
girl  would  laugh  and  smirk  with  the  apprentice  and 
wonder  if  she  was  as  beautiful  as  he  said  she  was,  and 
if  he  really  meant  it  when  he  told  her  that  he  longed 
to  elope  with  her  so  that  they  could  live  on  a  desert 
isle  together.  Hillary  little  dreamed  how  one  day 
he  and  that  little  native  girl  would  travel  across  the 
seas  together — in  a  stranger  fashion  than  he  jokingly 
anticipated. 

After  the  noon  sun  had  dropped  and  the  fire-flies 
had  begun  to  dance  in  the  mangroves  the  apprentice 
put  his  cap  on  and  strolled  out  on  to  the  slopes  to  kill 
time.  And  pretty  Mango  Pango  peeled  potatoes,  sang 
a  melancholy  Samoan  song,  dreamed  of  the  handsome 
white  papalagis  and  nearly  wept  to  think  she  was  so 
brown. 


HILLARY  was  impatient  during  the  intermin- 
able hours  that  passed  ere  he  saw  Gabrielle 
again.  "Don't  worry  me,  Mango,"  he  said, 
as  the  pretty  native  girl  stood  on  the  verandah  and 
blew  kisses  from  her  coral-red  lips. 

"He  go  mad  soon;  man  who  no  get  drunk  am  no 
gooder  at  all!"  murmured  Mango  Pango  as  she  ran 
off  to  obey  the  orders  of  her  mistress. 

It  was  the  next  night  when  Hillary  was  to  reach 
the  zenith  of  his  dreams  and  happiness.  Gabrielle  had 
promised  to  meet  him  at  sunset  and  go  off  in  a  canoe 
for  a  paddle  round  the  coral  reefs  off  Felisi  beach. 
He  was  on  fire  with  the  idea.  He  could  not  sleep. 
His  brain  teemed  with  the  thoughts  of  all  he  would  say 
to  Gabrielle  when  he  declared  his  love.  He  determined 
to  act  his  part  well  and  be  a  worthy  lover.  She  should 
not  be  disappointed  in  him.  "I'll  paddle  her  out  to 
that  derelict  three-masted  ship;  that  old  wreck's  the 
very  place.  I'll  take  her  on  board  so  that  we  shall 
be  quite  alone. ' ' 

He  thought  of  the  light  in  Gabrielle 's  eyes.  ' '  Fancy 
me  being  the  lucky  one  to  receive  her  kisses !  Wonder- 
ful !  I  know  men  get  exaggerated  ideas  about  the  one 
woman  who  appeals  to  them — but  Gabrielle! — it's  ex- 
cusable in  me. ' '  So  Hillary  reflected  as  he  heard  the 
ocean  surfs  beating  against  the  barrier  reefs.  It  pleased 
him  to  hear  the  winds  sighing  mournfully  through  the 
tracta  of  coco-palms  beyond  his  bedroom  window. 

101 


102          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

His  brain  became  confused  as  he  thought  of  the  ecstasy 
of  holding  her  in  his  arms.  He  sat  down  by  the  bamboo 
table  and  wrote  off  a  poem.  He  was  so  much  in  love 
that  even  the  poem  was  good.  He  proudly  read  the 
verses  over  and  over  again,  till  they  seemed  more 
wonderful  than  anything  he  had  read  in  the  works  of 
the  great  poets.  "I'm  a  poet,"  said  he.  Then  he 
stared  in  the  mirror  at  his  haggard  face,  just  to  see 
what  the  world's  greatest  lyric  poet  looked  like. 
Placing  his  scribbled  lyric  amongst  his  valued  property 
in  his  sea-chest,  he  once  more  continued  to  think  over 
all  that  he  would  do  when  the  sublime  moment  arrived. 
He  thought  of  how  he  would  hold  Gabrielle  in  his  arms. 
He  would  be  no  ordinary  lover.  He  would  rain  im- 
passioned kisses  on  her  sweet  mouth  as  he  held  her 
in  his  strong  embrace.  She  should  not  escape  him: 
the  very  fright  that  might  leap  into  her  eyes  through 
his  impassioned  vehemence  would  only  serve  to  feed 
the  fires  of  all  that  he  felt  for  her.  He  looked  in  the 
corner  on  his  violin — his  old  love.  How  insignificant 
it  seemed  when  compared  to  his  new  love.  Yet  he  felt 
a  slight  pang  of  remorse  as  he  realised  how  its  strings 
had  always  responded  to  his  moods.  Would  Gabrielle 's 
heart-strings  respond  as  readily!  Are  the  heart- 
strings of  women  as  perfectly  in  tune  with  a  lover's 
ideals  as  violins  are  to  the  touch  of  the  maestro  f  He 
heard  the  faint  booming  of  the  far-off  seas  sounding 
through  his  reflections  as  they  stole  across  the  quiet 
night.  Then  he  opened  his  sea-chest  and  took  out 
Balzac's  WUd  Ass's  Skin.  He  gazed  on  the  faded 
flower  that  had  lain  in  the  pages.  Though  it  was 
limp  and  withered,  it  was  glorified  because  Gabrielle 
had  worn  it  in  her  hair.  After  that  he  fell  asleep. 
Next  day  the  young  apprentice  became  terribly  im- 


THE  DERELICT  103 

patient  as  the  hours  slowly  passed.  He  was  to  meet 
Gabrielle  at  sunset  by  the  old  lagoon.  It  wanted  half- 
an-hour  before  the  sun  fell  behind  the  peaks  of  Yuraka 
when  he  eventually  started  off.  Mango  Pango  won- 
dered why  he  was  so  full  of  song,  so  carefully  dressed. 
He  chucked  her  under  the  chin,  even  praised  her  eyes, 
as  he  said,  "Good-bye,  0  beauteous  golden-skinned 
Mango  Pango, ' '  then  hurried  out  under  the  palms. 

' '  He  fool ;  he  go  meet  dark-skinned,  frizzly  Papuan 
girl,  I  know!  0  foolish  mans!"  murmured  pretty 
Mango  as  she  readjusted  the  hibiscus  blossoms  in  her 
bunched  tresses  and  looked  quite  spiteful. 

As  the  young  apprentice  hurried  on.  his  Byronic 
neckerchief  fluttering  from  his  throat  like  a  flag,  his 
eyes  twinkled  with  delight.  The  glamour  Gabrielle 
had  created  in  his  head  threw  a  poetic  gleam  over  the 
rugged  island  landscape  and  on  the  brooding  wealth 
of  nature  around  him.  The  blue  lagoons,  nestled 
by  the  lines  of  ivory-nut  palms,  looked  like  petrified 
patches  of  fallen  tropic  sky  that  had  been  mysteriously 
frozen  into  bright  mirrors.  Then  they  seemed  to 
break  up  into  musical  ripples  of  laughter,  for  a  covey 
of  bronze-hued,  pretty  native  girls  had  modestly 
dived  down  into  their  blue  depths  as  he  suddenly 
emerged  into  the  open.  He  distinctly  saw  the  bubbles 
where  they  had  disappeared,  and  he  knew  that  they 
were  all  standing  on  the  sandy  bottom  of  the  lagoon 
hastily  slipping  on  their  loin-cloths  before  they  boldly 
reappeared  on  the  surface. 

''Talofa!  Papalagi!"  said  one  as  her  shiny  head 
bobbed  on  the  surface,  her  eyes  sparkling  as  she  gazed 
shoreward  and  blew  the  apprentice  a  kiss  as  he  was 
passing  out  of  sight.  Then  he  arrived  on  the  lonely 
shore  tracks.  The  Papuan  birds  of  paradise  looked 


104          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

like  fragments  of  feathered  rainbows  haunting  old 
shores  as  they  floated  over  the  sea.  The  orange-striped 
cockatoos,  sitting  high  in  the  tall  flamboyants  and 
tamuni-trees,  seemed  to  shout  "Cockatoo-e  whoo! 
Cock-a-too  whoo!  Make  haste!  Make  haste!"  as  he 
approached.  They  rose  in  a  glittering  shower  from 
their  roosts,  gave  dismal  muttering  as  they  fluttered 
over  his  head,  till,  hanging  their  coral-red  feet  loosely, 
they  resettled  on  the  boughs  of  the  tasselled  bread- 
fruits. It  was  a  wildly  desolate  spot ;  not  a  sail  specked 
the  horizon  as  Hillary  tramped  along,  singing  to  him- 
self. Except  for  the  solitary  dark  man  who  lay  fast 
asleep  in  his  outrigger  canoe,  that  was  becalmed  a  few 
yards  beyond  the  coral  reefs,  he  wandered  in  a  world 
alone.  Only  the  bright-plumaged  birds  populated  the 
wooded  promontories,  cheeks  and  slopes. 

As  the  young  apprentice  walked  slowly  along, 
making  time,  he  repeatedly  glanced  seaward  to  see 
how  low  the  sun  was  setting.  Arriving  opposite  the 
alligator-shaped  promontory  at  Nu-poa,  he  sighted  the 
scattered  palavanas  of  the  small  hut  citadel,  Ko-Koa. 
It  was  a  fishing  village ;  quite  a  score  of  canoes  floated 
hard  by  on  the  lagoons.  The  romping  heathen  kiddies 
waved  their  paddles  as  he  passed  by.  Their  alert  eyes 
seldom  missed  the  passing  of  a  papalagi.  From  out 
the  thatched  beehive-shaped  homesteads,  under  the 
mangoes  and  mahogany-trees,  rushed  several  old  chiefs 
and  their  women-kind,  who  at  once  began  loudly  to 
lament  the  dearth  of  tobacco  and  gin  and  loose  cash. 

Attractive  girls  offered  him  their  fabulous  wealth 
of  shells  and  fish  in  exchange  for  a  silk  handkerchief. 
"You  got  nice  lady  fren,  papalagi? — one  who  'av* 
gotter  old  pair  stocking  she  no  wanter?"  said  one 
coy  maid  whose  soul  yearned  to  attract  some  dusky 


THE  DERELICT   .  105 

Lothario's  waning  glances.  But  it  was  all  innocent 
enough  in  a  way.  "Women  are  the  same  the  world 
over,  blest  if  they  aren't!"  he  murmured,  as  he  gave 
a  bashful  maid  a  small  piece  of  red  ribbon  in  exchange 
for  her  beautifully  carved  bone  hair-comb,  which  she 
handed  him  with  inimitable  grace,  for  brown  maids 
are  very  ambitious  for  the  love  of  a  white  man.  Some 
of  the  youths  and  maids  were  half-caste  and  three- 
quarter  caste,  a  mixture  of  Polynesian  and  Melanesian. 
Armlets  and  leglets  fashioned  from  the  pretty  treduca 
shells  jingled  as  the  girls  romped  round  the  apprentice. 
Those  girls  of  mixed  blood  were  mostly  of  grace- 
ful deportment,  many  having  fine,  intellectual  eyes. 
Neither  did  they  possess  the  ungainly  head-mop. 
Indeed,  standing  there  under  the  distant  palms  of 
the  lower  shore,  their  wavy  hair  tossing  to  the  sea- 
winds,  they  made  a  picturesque  sight.  And  one  might 
easily  have  imagined  that  they  were  tawny  mermaids 
who  had  crept  up  the  sands  so  as  to  stand  under  the 
green-leafed  palms  to  comb  their  tresses  and  wail 
luring  songs.  Hillary  stood  still  for  a  moment  and 
gazed  on  that  enchanting  scene  of  primitive  life, 
fascinated.  Out  on  the  edge  of  the  promontory  sat  yet 
another  covey  of  semi-Papuan  and  Polynesian  maids. 
It  was  not  fancy ;  they  were  really  singing  mysterious 
songs  as  they  sought  to  lure  the  sun-varnished  native 
fishermen  who  paddled  or  sailed  their  buoyant  cata- 
marans over  the  wine-dark  waters.  Hillary  bolted 
under  the  palms  to  escape  the  embarrassing  attentions 
of  both  the  cadging  chiefs  and  those  Solomon  Island 
Nausicaas  and  Circes.  It  was  not  long  after  that  he 
arrived  by  the  side  of  the  wide  lagoon  that  Gabrielle 
would  cross  in  her  canoe  if  she  kept  the  appointment. 
She  would  come  by  water,  whereas  he  had  travelled 


106         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

three  miles,  the  long  way  round  by  the  coast.  As  he 
stood  by  the  lagoon  it  seemed  to  stretch  before  him 
like  a  beautiful  mirror  that  reflected  tall  fern  and 
palm  trees.  Even  the  bright-winged  lories  were  dis- 
tinctly visible  as  their  shadows  flitted  across  the  sky. 
"Will  she  come?  Is  it  all  a  dream?"  thought  he 
as  his  heart  thumped  heavily. 

It  seemed  incredible  to  Hillary  that  he  should  really 
be  standing  there  by  that  lagoon  in  the  cannibalistic 
Solomon  Isles,  waiting  to  see  a  beautiful  white  girl 
paddle  towards  him  across  the  blue  waters.  He  had 
not  waited  long  before  round  the  bend  of  the  lagoon, 
far  off,  came  a  ripple,  quite  visible  on  the  waters; 
in  another  moment  the  curved,  ornamental  prow  of  a 
canoe  appeared  as  the  moving  paddle  leapt  into  full 
view.  The  sun  was  setting  and  the  blaze  shot  right 
across  the  Pacific  and  touched  the  mountains  to  the 
south-east,  sending  transcendent  hues  and  shadows 
down  on  to  the  lagoon  waters  and  again  into  the 
forests. 

Women  play  all  sorts  of  tricks  with  credulous  men 
and  their  instinctive  love  of  beauty.  True  enough, 
Gabrielle  was  an  artist  in  the  delicate  business  of  self- 
attire.  She  knew  exactly  where  to  place  the  blue  rib- 
bon at  her  throat  and  the  crushed  crimson  flower  in  the 
crown  of  her  hair  so  that  it  might  appeal  to  the  senses 
of  a  mere  man.  The  blue  and  white  flowers  stuck  in 
her  tresses  looked  unreal,  for  her  hair  shone  as  though 
it  had  been  set  on  fire  by  the  hues  of  the  sunset.  Her 
robe  might  have  been  cut  out  of  some  burnished  cloud 
material  such  as  the  angels  wear.  "Fancy!  She's 
come!"  murmured  Hillary  as  the  prow  of  the  canoe 
softly  swerved  broadside  on  to  the  sandy  shore.  ' '  Come 
on,  dearest,"  he  said.  Gabrielle  looked  tired  and  was 


THE  DERELICT  107 

breathing  fast  through  her  haste  in  paddling  across 
the  wide  lagoon.  She  looked  very  pale.  "What's  the 
matter,  dear?  ' 

"Father's  drunk." 

"  Is  he  ? "  said  Hillary,  as  he  metaphorically  brought 
his  fist  down  and  swept  such  an  unromantic  nuisance 
as  a  father  off  the  face  of  the  earth.  Even  Gabrielle 
looked  up  quickly  as  she  heard  him  take  a  deep  breath 
as  he  swept  old  Everard  to  dust,  pulverised.  He 
hadn  't  rehearsed  through  the  feverish  night  all  that  he 
intended  to  do  at  that  moment,  and  written  a  mighty 
poem,  to  be  finally  thwarted  by  a  drunken  father. 

Something  kin  to  the  fire  that  shone  in  the  appren- 
tice 's  eyes  shone  in  Gabrielle 's  eyes  also.  She  trembled, 
and  obediently  did  all  that  he  bade  her  do.  In  a 
moment  they  had  taken  hold  of  the  prow  of  the  canoe 
and  between  them  dragged  it  for  thirty  yards  over 
the  shallows  that  separated  the  deeper  lagoon  waters 
from  the  sea.  They  were  right  opposite  to  where 
the  Pacific  waves  gambol  into  a  thousand  creeks  and 
coral  caves.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation  Gabrielle 
jumped  into  the  canoe.  ' '  Be  careful,  dear, ' '  whispered 
the  apprentice. 

They  lost  no  time  in  embarking.  A  trader  was 
likely  to  pass  at  any  moment,  and  Everard  had 
threatened  to  "kick  Hillary  into  the  middle  of  next 
week"  if  he  found  that  villainous  apprentice  hanging 
around  his  daughter.  They  could  just  hear  the  faint 
echoes  of  the  tribal  drums  in  the  Buka-Buka  moun- 
tains as  their  canoe  shot  silently  out  into  the  bay. 
They  were  off,  paddling  away  together  into  the  un- 
known seas  of  romance.  Such  was  that  world  of 
rugged  shore  and  dark  blue  waters  to  Hillary  as  he 
gazed  up  at  the  darkening  sky.  God  had  just  lit  the 


108         GABRIELLE  OP  THE  LAGOON 

first  star,  and  as  he  gazed  upward  it  flashed  into  sight. 

Gabrielle  really  did  look  like  some  beautiful  vision- 
ary creature  sitting  there ;  and  she  was  voiceless,  as  be- 
fits those  who  travel  across  tropic  seas  of  love.  The 
apprentice  paddled  along  time,  then  at  last  he  could 
hear  the  faint  monotones  of  the  seas  that  were  cease- 
lessly beating  against  the  reefs  and  the  big  bulk  of 
the  wreck. 

"Allow  me!"  he  said.  His  voice  trembled  as  he 
took  hold  of  her  hand  firmly,  as  though  he  thought  she 
might  escape.  The  prow  bumped  gently  against  the 
hulks '  side  near  the  gangway.  That  big,  three-masted 
derelict  looked  like  some  huge  phantom  ship  as  it 
loomed  up  there  in  the  silent  waters  off  Bougainville. 
' '  Come  on,  dear. ' '  Very  carefully  he  placed  his  arms 
around  her  and  step  by  step  carried  her  up  the  ragged 
rope  gangway. 

Their  heads  were  nearly  up  to  the  level  of  the  deck, 
but  there  were  still  two  more  steps  to  climb.  "Hold 
tight,  dear,"  he  whispered.  His  voice  seemed  to 
travel  like  an  echo  across  the  silence  of  the  tropic  night. 
Just  for  a  second  he  gazed  into  Gabrielle 's  eyes,  then 
he  gently  dropped  her  down  on  to  the  deck.  At  that 
moment  reality  returned;  things  took  some  definite 
shape;  Hillary  recalled  time,  the  world  and  the  far- 
off  cities. 

A  drove  of  frightened  rats  went  shrieking  and 
squeaking  down  the  alleyway  towards  the  forecastle. 
The  remnants  of  torn  sail  and  tangled  rigging  flapped 
mournfully  to  the  winds  as  they  both  slipped  hurriedly 
across  the  warped  deck.  Hillary  felt  the  ecstasy  that 
is  the  highest  attainment  of  mortal  happiness.  Had 
she  wholly  belonged  to  him,  body  and  soul,  he  would 
not  have  been  half  so  happy.  He  stared  aloft  at  the 


THE  DERELICT  109 

tall  masts  and  felt  a  mighty  sympathy  for  that  vessel 
lying  there  by  the  desolate  shores  of  its  last  anchorage, 
for  the  jib-boom  at  the  bow  seemed  to  point  helplessly 
at  the  far-away  horizon,  to  which  it  could  never  sail. 
"This  way!  Come  on!"  he  whispered,  as  he  gazed 
around  in  some  mad  thought  that  the  ghosts  of  the 
old  crew  were  enviously  hanging  round  in  their  great 
off-wateh. 

They  sat  down  in  silence  on  the  old  form  that  was 
close  against  the  poop,  just  by  the  entrance  to  the 
saloon.  Immediately  over  their  heads,  by  the  deck 
rails  of  the  now  rotting  poop,  was  the  spot  where  the 
old  captain  had  stood  when  he  sailed  the  seas.  As  the 
apprentice  looked  upwards  he  suddenly  remembered 
that  he  was  on  the  very  derelict  that  had  once  been 
the  ship  of  the  old  skipper  who  had  left  the  books 
at  Everard's  bungalow,  the  books  from  which  Gabri- 
elle  had  gathered  her  romance. 

In  his  mind  he  saw  that  old  derelict  when  it  sailed 
the  seas  in  its  prime,  when  the  figure-head  with  out- 
stretched hands  at  the  bows  (now  with  one  arm  broken 
off  and  its  emblematic,  once  beautiful  face  fast  rotting) 
had  bounded  across  the  waves  like  a  living  thing,  long 
before  Hillary  was  born.  The  influence  of  the  sur- 
roundings and  the  girl  beside  him  stirred  his  fancy.  In 
imagination  he  saw  the  old  skipper  standing  on  the 
poop  watching  the  blue  horizons  and  the  starlight  and 
moonlight  that  shone  in  another  age,  so  far  as  his 
own  brief  run  of  years  were  concerned.  In  a  flash  he 
realised  that  out  of  all  the  cargoes  the  captain  had 
jealously  guarded  in  his  long  voyages  it  was  the  old 
books  that  had  brought  him  solace  in  his  cabin  that 
had  proved  the  most  wonderful  merchandise  after  all. 
Where  were  the  imported  pianos  that  has  been  shipped 


110         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

for  the  Australasian  colonies,  Fiji,  Java,  Callao  and 
Shanghai?  What  had  been  their  fate?  They  had 
been  thumped  and  thumped  to  distraction  and  destruc- 
tion while  men  drank  their  grog.  Where  were  the 
cargoes  of  old  grandfather  clocks  and  German-made 
alarms?  But  more  wonderful  than  all  was  the  fact 
that  Gabrielle  sat  beside  him  on  that  very  ship,  her 
heart  aglow  with  the  romance  that  she  had  gathered 
out  of  the  pages  of  the  old  captain's  books.  True 
enough,  that  skipper  never  wrote  the  books,  but  he 
lived  an  adventurous  life  in  the  big  world,  and  who  will 
say  that  he  may  not  have  been  wiser  than  the  authors  ? 

Hillary  looked  through  the  saloon  port-hole  just  be- 
hind them  and  half  fancied  he  saw  a  ghostly  glimmer  of 
the  oil  lamps  that  had  shone  in  that  saloon  in  the  dusk 
of  other  days ;  he  even  saw  the  shadows  of  men  moving 
about  the  cuddy  table.  But  it  was  no  ghostly  pageant 
of  the  past  at  all,  simply  a  stream  of  moonlight  on  the 
torn  sail  that  waved  to  and  fro  as  it  hung  from,  the 
main-yard  and  sent  its  shadow  into  the  dark  saloon. 

The  atmosphere  that  surrounded  the  wreck  and  the 
music  of  the  wind  in  the  decaying  rigging  affected 
Gabrielle  also.  Her  old  torn-boy  demeanor  had 
completely  vanished.  Hillary  only  said,  "Well 
Gabrielle, ' '  and  she  heard  the  music  in  those  two  words. 
For  a  moment  they  both  forgot  the  world  beyond  that 
hulk.  Only  the  stars  existed,  and  they  shone  into 
Gabrielle 's  eyes  as  their  lips  met.  The  passionate 
phrases  that  he  had  so  carefully  rehearsed,  all  the 
poetic  vehemence  of  the  night  before,  had  faded.  Not 
one  mad  vow  escaped  his  lips.  He  only  held  her  ten- 
derly, as  though  he  were  afraid  that  she  might  crumble 
in  his  arms — fall  as  dust  to  his  feet.  Not  an  atom  of 
passion  came  to  ruffle  the  poetry  of  his  feelings.  For 


THE  DERELICT  111 

the  young  apprentice  was  really  in  love.  Her  hair 
touched  his  face.  It  thrilled  him  as  music  thrills 
dreaming  men.  "Gabrielle,  you  are  very  beautiful. 
How  strange  that  no  man  has  claimed  you  before. 
For  that,  at  least,  I  thank  God." 

The  girl  was  silent.  "Don't  you  believe  me?"  he 
added.  He  glanced  swiftly  at  her  face.  It  was 
deathly  white.  Hillary  thought  it  was  the  rats  scam- 
pering across  the  deck  that  had  brought  that  startled 
look.  Then  Gabrielle  burst  into  tears. 

The  apprentice  thought  little  about  those  tears.  He 
had  felt  a  little  like  that  too  when  he  was  really  happy. 
If  there  was  a  wrong  construction  to  be  placed  on 
Gabrielle 's  actions,  Hillary  was  sure  to  hit  on  it.  It 
was  a  natural  consequence,  since  he  had  gathered  all 
his  knowiedge  of  women  from  his  books.  To  him  all 
women  were*  beautiful  and  good.  He  thought  of  them 
as  leading  sheltered  lives.  They  were  perfectly  differ- 
ent from  men.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him  to  try  and 
explain  the  differences.  His  views  about  women,  in 
fact,  were  quite  conventional,  touched  with  the  theatri- 
cal glamour  that  is  common  enough  in  extreme  youth. 

And  still  the  tears  lingered  in  Gabrielle 's  eyes.  No 
one  can  tell  what  the  girl  really  thought  and  felt, 
excepting  that  she  heard  the  simple  note  of  sincerity 
in  all  that  the  young  apprentice  said  and  which  cannot 
be  written  down.  As  for  Hillary,  the  material  world 
had  passed  from  his  sight.  Gabrielle  wept,  but  what 
did  it  matter?  Weeping  must  be  some  natural 
attribute  to  real  happiness.  So  he  thought. 

It  may  have  been  the  noisy  rats  or  the  creak  of  the 
blown  rigging  that  slightly  dispelled  the  romantic 
atmosphere.  "Even  the  ecstasy  of  insanity  is  denied 
men,"  thought  Hillary  as  a  haunting  thought  sud- 


GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

denly  disturbed  him.  "She  is  weeping  because  I've 
frightened  her.  That 's  what  it  is.  She 's  only  a  child 
after  all — does  not  understand!  I'm  too  passionate, 
too  headlong  in  my  way  of  making  love.  She's 
frightened  of  me  and  so  she  weeps."  Suddenly  his 
manner  altered.  He  led  her  to  the  bulwark's  side. 
The  moon  had  already  risen,  and  as  they  both  leaned 
over,  looking  down  into  the  dark  waters,  they  could 
see  their  shadows  in  the  silent  depths  below.  Neither 
spoke ;  some  fascination  held  them.  As  the  apprentice 
looked  at  the  girl's  face  her  shadow-eyes  seemed  to 
glance  sideways  at  him.  He  fancied  that  he  saw 
something  distorted  in  the  movement  of  her  shadow. 
A  puff  of  wind  seemed  to  drift  down  from  the  stars; 
the  hair  was  outblown,  the  features  unfamiliar.  But 
it  was  only  for  a  second ;  in  another  moment  Gabrielle '» 
full  outline  developed  in  the  light  of  the  tropic  moon. 
There  they  were,  Hillary  with  his  arm  on  the  shoulder 
of  the  girl,  who  was  still  staring  intently  into  the 
still  water. 

"Why  did  you  sigh  like  that,  Grabrielle?"  he  said. 
Then  he  looked  on  the  western  sky-line.  The  ghostly 
flush,  the  pale  aftermath  of  the  departed  day,  still 
lingered.  Hillary  vaguely  recalled  how  near  human 
happiness  is  to  sorrow;  he  felt  sure  there  was  some 
sorrow  in  the  girl's  heart.  Rajah  Koo  Macka  had 
looked  into  Gabrielle 's  eyes;  but  he  knew  that  there 
are  many  different  ways  in  which  a  woman  may  look 
at  a  man.  None  knew  better  than  he. 

Gabrielle 's  eyes  to-night  held  a  different  expression 
as  she  again  scrutinised  the  young  apprentice. 

1 '  Do  you  love  me,  Gabrielle  ? ' ' 

She  responded  by  clasping  his  hand  tightly  and 
looking  at  him  in  some  fright.  Her  voice  was  hushed 


THE  DERELICT  113 

and  trembling  as  she  replied:  "I've  got  a  feeling  for 
j-ou  that  I've  never  had  before  for  anyone.  I  think 
I  could  die  with  someone  like  you."  Saying  this,  she 
looked  steadily  into  his  eyes,  and  then  added  in  a  half- 
sorrowful  way;  "I  wouldn't  care  if  we  jumped  into 
the  sea  and  died  together;  I'd  be  much  happier  if  I 
were  dead." 

"Well  now,"  said  Hillary  as  she  continued:  "I'm 
a  hateful  girl;  I've  already  told  you  I'm  wicked; 
besides,  I  'm  haunted  by  a  shadow-woman :  she  follows 
me,  curses  me,  but  I  can 't  explain  it  to  anyone. ' ' 

She  became  excited  and  raised  her  voice  as  he  had 
never  heard  her  raise  it  before.  The  apprentice  rubbed 
his  eyes.  "Jump  into  the  seas  and  die!"  he  gasped 
as  he  realised  all  that  the  girl  had  so  passionately 
poured  forth.  "Not  if  I  know  it."  Then  he  added: 
' '  What  do  you  mean  about  a  shadow-woman  and  being 
haunted  by  her  ? ' ' 

He  looked  steadily  into  the  girl's  pallid  face,  then 
gently  pulled  her  towards  him  and  folded  her  to  his 
heart. 

"You're  only  a  romantic  child.  I've  made  you  ill 
through  my  love-making.  You  don't  understand. 
Some  day,  when  you  are  a  woman,  you'll  know  how 
a  fellow  must  feel,  how  he  can  really  love  such  a  one 
as  you.  Forgive  me,  Gabrielle,  will  you?" 

The  girl  gently  took  hold  of  his  hand  and,  looking 
steadily  into  his  eyes,  said:  "Perhaps  you  are  only  a 
boy  and  it's  you  who  do  not  understand.  You  are 
too  good  a  fellow  for  me.  Don't  you  believe  it ;  youVe 
not  made  me  ill.  It's  something  that  I  don't  quite 
understand." 

"But  why  be  ill  at  all?"  was  Hillary's  brief  sum- 
ming up  after  she  had  rattled  this  off.  But  still  she 

8 


114         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

ran  on:  "You'd  never  believe  what  happened  the  other 
night.  I  went  mad,  I  think." 

' '  Good  Lord !  You  must  not  encourage  such  ideas. 
You've  been  dwelling  with  your  own  thoughts  too 
much." 

''I'm  not  mad,  though  you  may  think  I  am.  I 
could  easily  prove  to  you  that  I  'm  haunted ;  you  don 't 
know  the  horrible  things  that  happen  to  people  of 
the  Papuan  race.  I  'm  afraid  that  even  you  would  turn 
against  me  if  you  knew  of  my  terrible  heritage. ' ' 

"Terrible  heritage!"  gasped  the  apprentice,  as  he 
leaned  over  the  side  and  hardly  knew  what  he  was 
saying  or  doing  as  he  followed  Gabrielle's  stare  as  she 
too  leaned  over  and  looked  down  into  the  deep,  silent 
waters.  "Is  she  mad?  Perhaps  she  is."  Then  he 
thrust  the  thought  from  his  mind.  "Phew!  Rubbish! 
She 's  beautifully  eccentric ;  if  anyone 's  mad  it 's  me ! ' ' 

"Gabrielle,  your  father's  continual  bullying  has 
made  you  ill — and  a  bit  neurotic.  Don't  worry,  I'll 
protect  you. "  For  a  moment  he  was  silent ;  the  father 
had  given  him  the  pluck  and  the  opportunity  to  say 
what  he  longed  to  say.  ' '  Gabrielle,  why  put  up  with 
a  father's  bullying?  Let's  both  clear  out  of  Bougain- 
ville ;  come  with  me !  "We  can  go  away  to  Honolulu. 
I  '11  swear  that  I  '11  look  after  you  well,  never  say  one 
word  that  you  may  not  wish  me  to  say.  I  can  easily 
make  money  by  my  violin  playing. ' ' 

Having  blurted  out  the  foregoing,  Hillary  almost 
trembled  as  he  waited  to  see  the  impression  his  out- 
burst had  made  on  the  girl.  He  watched  Gabrielle's 
eyes.  "I've  gone  too  far  again.  How  rash  I  am!" 
was  his  miserable  reflection  as  she  nearly  swooned 
into  his  arms. 

"I'll  go  anywhere  in  the  wide  world  with  you, 


THE  DERELICT  115 

Hillary,"  she  said,  to  his  unbounded  delight  and 
astonishment. 

' '  Will  you ! ' '  His  eyes  shone,  his  voice  was  almost 
shrill,  like  a  happy  schoolboy's  over  the  possibilities 
of  some  childish  scheme. 

"How  can  we  manage  all  these  things  you've  men- 
tioned?" said  Gabrielle  softly,  as  she  glanced  earnestly 
at  the  young  apprentice. 

It  was  not  Hillary's  imagination,  it  was  all  true 
enough ;  Gabrielle  wanted  to  go  at  once — no  delay ! 

Hillary  knew  nothing,  guessed  nothing  of  the  cause 
of  the  girl 's  desire  for  hasty  flight.  He  only  saw  that 
the  light  in  here  eyes  was  as  sincere  as  death. 

"The  Solomon  Isles!  And  now  an  elopement  with 
a1  haunted,  beautiful  white  girl,"  was  his  mental 
ejaculation. 

If  he  had  had  the  slightest  hint  of  the  real  reason 
of  Gabrielle 's  hurry,  would  he  have  hesitated?  No! 
He  would  have  flown  with  her  that  very  night  and 
never  let  her  go  back  to  the  homestead  behind  the  beach 
at  Felisi.  Neither  the  wreck,  the  stars  nor  the  whisper 
of  the  beating  seas  hinted  the  truth  to  him.  He  looked 
shoreward  across  the  straits.  The  night  was  so  clear 
that  he  fancied  he  could  see  the  smoke  rising  from  the 
crater  of  Bangana,  fifty  miles  away. 

"Gabrielle,  will  you  meet  me  by  the  lagoon  again 
to-morrow  night?  We  will  then  arrange  everything, 
and  you  can  tell  me  if  you  will  come. ' '  Then  he  added : 
"I  can  manage  everything  splendidly."  He  spoke 
enthusiastically  and  with  assurance,  as  though  he  had 
had  a  large  and  successful  experience  of  this  kind  of 
thing.  Then  he  continued:  "We  can  fly  away  to 
Honolulu,  or  anywhere  you  like  from  this  cursed  place 
— even  to  England." 


116         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

Gabrielle  was  so  affected  and  dazed  by  the  appren- 
tice 's  enthusiasm  that  she  could  only  stare  in  the  dusk 
at  his  flushed  face  and  brightening  eyes  as  he  continued 
with  his  emotional  tirade:  "You  don't  know  what  I'll 
be  to  you,  how  I  '11  love  you,  dear.  I  '11  write  songs  and 

music  and  dedicate  all  to  you !  I  '11  write  poems ' ' 

Then  he  paused  and  exclaimed:  "Gabrielle,  I'm  a 
poet — you  don 't  know  what  I  am !  You  don 't  know 
what  I'm  capable  of  achieving  in  this  world  if  I  had 
someone  like  you  to  encourage  me. ' ' 

Even  Gabrielle  forgot  her  vanity  and  felt  some  sad 
sense  of  shame  over  her  own  unworthiness,  as  he  swore 
that  the  veriest  vagabonds  of  the  streets  would  aspire 
to  fame  if  they  had  someone  to  inspire  them  beyond 
their  unambitious  selves.  Hillary  poured  forth  a 
flood  of  impassioned  words;  his  eyes  shone  in  his 
earnestness,  and  his  lips  trembled.  Then  he  suddenly 
realised  that  his  overwhelming  flood  of  words  might 
appear  foolish  to  the  girl.  He  stopped  short.  He 
watched  her  half  in  fright,  wondering  what  impression 
he  had  made  upon  her. 

Gabrielle  replied  by  falling  into  his  arms.  She  could 
not  help  feeling  something  of  his  almighty  boyish 
sincerity.  There  in  the  friendly  shadows  she  told 
Hillary  that  he  had  beautiful  eyes.  She  laid  her  head 
on  his  lap  so  that  he  could  gaze  down  into  her  eyes 
as  their  lips  met  over  and  over  again.  How  it  thrilled 
him  when  she  said:  "Hillary,  my  Hillary!"  And 
while  the  torn  rigging  wailed  and  the  deep  waters 
boomed  and  resolved  into  gentle  monotones  against 
the  derelict's  wooden  side  she  sat  by  him  and  sang. 
A  silver  sea-bird  swooped  over  the  deck  and,  sighting 
them  there,  gave  a  startled  cry  as  it  sped  away. 

"Gabrielle,"  he  whispered,  as  he  thought  of  all  that 


THE  DERELICT  117 

he  had  rehearsed  in  his  mind  and  of  how  little  he  had 
accomplished  now  that  the  girl  was  quite  alone  with 
him  on  that  wreck.  Then  he  softly  pulled  down  the 
delicate  blue  neck-fringe  of  her  blouse  and  exposed  the 
whiteness  of  her  warm  throat.  And  Gabrielle,  with 
an  artless  vanity  that  inspired  his  waning  courage, 
gently  let  her  head  fall  back  so  that  he  might  touch, 
just  once,  the  soft  whiteness  of  her  throat  with  his  lips. 

The  apprentice  reddened  to  the  ears  and  blessed  the 
darkness  as  he  thought  of  his  boldness  and  softly 
pulled  the  delicate  folds  together  again.  "I've  done 
it  now!  She'll  think  I'm  a  terrible  fellow,"  was 
Hillary's  hasty  reflection  as  the  girl  remained  silent. 
Then  he  tried  to  excuse  himself.  "I've  read  of  men 
doing  that  in  novels  and  poems,"  he  said  in  a  semi- 
apologetic  tone, 

"So  have  I,"  replied  Gabrielle;  then  she  laughed 
softly.  And  Hillary  wondered  what  wondrous  deed 
of  virtue  he  had  done  that  God  should  shower  such 
unbounded  happiness  on  his  head. 

It  was  a  perfect  night  in  Gabrielle  Everard's  life. 
Xo  shadow  came  to  haunt  the  silence  of  those  moments 
as  she  sat  by  Hillary 's  side.  Only  the  shadows  of  the 
torn  sails  waving  to  and  fro  in  the  warm  tropic  wind 
fell  from  aloft  to  touch  their  happy  faces.  The  soft 
confusion  of  Gabrielle 's  hair  harmonised  with  the 
bright  thoughts  that  floated  in  his  mind.  The  smell 
of  the  rotting  tarred  ropes  and  the  palmy  fragrance 
of  the  south  wind  over  the  sea  mingled  together  and 
formed  a  part  of  his  sensations. 

It  was  close  on  midnight  when  the  apprentice 
remembered  the  flight  of  time,  which  passes  with 
greater  swiftness  over  the  heads  of  lovers  than  of  sad 
old  men  and  women.  Even  the  rats  seemed  to  scamper 


118         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

and  squeak  in  regret  as  they  both  rose  and  reluctantly 
crept  across  the  silent  deck.  A  slight  breeze  had 
sprung  up  from  the  south-east. 

"Make  haste!"  Hillary  whispered  as  they  arrived 
by  the  rotting  bulwark  near  the  risky  rope  gangway. 
The  apprentice  looked  with  apprehension  out  to  sea 
when  he  noticed  that  the  former  calm  expanse  of  ocean 
was  slightly  ruffled.  ''Quick!  Quick!"  he  said,  and 
then  Gabrielle  went  over  the  side  and  trusted  her 
weight  to  the  taut  gangway  rope.  "Thank  God!" 
murmured  Hillary,  as  she  stepped  from  the  swinging 
gangway  into  the  canoe.  Then  to  his  infinite  relief  he 
noticed  that  the  wind  had  dropped.  Though  she  had 
embarked,  he  had  still  stood  hesitating  as  to  whether 
it  was  safe  to  venture  back  to  the  shore. 

"I  don't  think  it  will  blow,  and  it's  only  a  mile  to 
the  shore, ' '  he  thought,  as  the  girl  carefully  took  her 
place  in  the  prow.  The  moon  was  just  setting  as  the 
gangway  swung  back  and  Hillary  stepped  into  the 
fragile  craft.  Then,  like  two  ghosts,  they  paddled 
away,  back  to  the  mainland. 


CHAPTER  VII 
WHEN  THE  STARS  DANCED 

THE  day  after  Hillary  and  Gabrielle's  love 
tryst  on  the  derelict  off  Bougainville  old 
Everard  sat  in  his  bungalow  rubbing  his  hands 
with  delight.  He  had  been  over  the  slope  in  Roke- 
ville  "celebrating"  at  the  grog  bar,  had  been  to 
the  store  and  flirted  with  the  trader's  pretty  half-caste 
daughters,  and  had  tapped  his  wooden  leg  significantly 
as  the  schooner  skippers  heard  how  he  'd  done  things  in 
his  day;  then  he  had  returned  home,  full  of  the  best 
Jamaica  rum.  It  wasn't  the  rum,  or  the  praise  and 
encores  of  the  shellbacks  in  Parsons 's  grog  bar,  or  the 
surreptitious  kiss  he'd  given  pretty  Mango  Pango  on 
his  way  home  that  made  him  so  jovial ;  it  was  because 
he'd  met  Rajah  Koo  Macka,  who  was  calling  at  the 
bungalow  that  evening.  Already  the  shadows  were 
falling  over  the  mountains.  He  was  still  busily  shout- 
ing directions  to  his  daughter  as  though  he  stood  on 
the  fore-deck  of  that  wondrous  ship  that  had  sailed 
all  seas  and  found  all  that  is  considered  impossible  and 
absurd  in  this  new  day.  He  had  artfully  enticed 
Gabrielle  to  dress  herself  up,  so  that  she  might  appear 
at  her  very  best  when  Rajah  Macka  arrived. 

' '  Put  the  flowers  in  yer  'air,  and  don 't  forget  to  put 
thet  blue  robe  thing  on,"  said  the  ex-sailor,  as  he 
critically  surveyed  his  daughter  and  tapped  his  wooden 
leg  to  punctuate  his  appreciation.  "That 'sit!  That's 
it !  You  do  look  nice ! ' ' 

Gabrielle's  eyes  were  shining  with  pleasure  as  she 

119 


120 

listened  to  her  Dad 's  praise.  He  so  seldom  praised  her. 
Then  she  gazed  into  the  bamboo  looking-glass.  Her 
vanity  was  excusable,  for  the  scarlet  and  white  hibiscus 
blossoms  made  the  bronze-gold  tresses  shine  as  the 
sunset  shines  on  a  mountain  lagoon. 

' '  You  're  a  good  gal  when  yer  like, ' '  aid  old  Everard, 
little  dreaming  for  whose  eyes  Gabrielle  had  so  taste- 
fully arrayed  herself. 

"Mitia,  savee!  Nicer  ladie!"  said  the  tiny  Papuan 
maid,  who  at  that  moment  arrived  with  her  basket  of 
fish  at  the  door.  The  fish  were  all  alive,  splashing 
about  in  the  grass-plaited  basket,  as  frisky  as  the  little 
savage  maiden,  who  took  her  purchase  money  and  sped 
away  under  the  palms  like  a  nymph  of  the  wilds. 

' '  You  're  as  beautiful-looking  as  your  mother  was, ' ' 
said  the  white  man  as  he  sighed.  Then  he  followed 
his  sigh  by  taking  a  good  pull  at  the  rum  bottle.  Pos- 
sibly the  memory  of  his  dead  wife  impelled  the  weak 
ex-sailor  to  take  so  many  extra  drops,  for  he  was 
known  to  sit  for  hours  like  a  man  in  a  trance  when  folk 
sang  certain  old  songs. 

"That's  right,  tidy  the  place  up!  Put  the  green 
cloth  on.  Macka's  mighty  particular.  Those  civilised 
'eathens  like  things  just  so,"  said  the  fuddled,  idiotic 
old  man.  He  was  expecting  the  Rajah  at  any  moment, 
for  it  was  past  seven  o'clock  and  he  had  promised 
Everard  to  be  at  the  bungalow  before  eight.  It  seemed 
incredible  that  the  old  ex-sailor  could  not  see  through 
such  a  one  as  the  Rajah.  But  sailormen  are  not  very 
wise  when  it  comes  to  judging  human  nature.  And 
it  didn  't  want  twenty-four  jurymen  to  discern  the  sort 
of  glance  that  lurked  in  the  Rajah's  eyes  when  he  gazed 
at  his  women  converts.  Had  the  Rajah  been  correctly 
placed  in  an  ethnographical  classification,  he  would 


WHEN  THE  STARS  DANCED  121 

have  been  placed  somewhere  between  the  orang-outang 
and  the  lowest  negro  type.  But  circumstances  had 
invested  him  with  the  power  to  act  as  a  mediator 
between  God  and  the  souls  of  decent  men  and  women. 
His  outward  life,  his  fleshy,  handsome  face  were 
splendid  assets.  They  stood  him  in  good  stead,  giving 
him  an  extra  distinction  in  the  eyes  of  ignorant  natives 
and  even  low-caste  whites.  Not  the  least  of  his  stock- 
in-trade  were  the  frock-coat,  top  hat,  kid  gloves, 
spotless  patent  boots,  scarlet  waistcoat  and  the  turban 
swathing,  the  purchasing  value  of  the  lot  being  about 
twelve  dollars  in  Beratania  Street,  Honolulu. 

Old  Everard  gazed  eagerly  at  the  clock.  "Time's 
getting  on,"  he  mumbled.  And  was  Everard 'a 
daughter  as  eager  over  the  Rajah's  expected  visit  as 
her  father?  Not  a  bit  of  it !  She  hadn't  the  slightest 
idea  of  being  in  that  dismal  parlour  when  Macka 
arrived.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  to  make  a  sur- 
reptitious departure  as  soon  as  she  had  tidied  up  the 
room.  She  longed  to  meet  Hillary  again.  She  had 
been  more  than  thinking  about  his  proposal  to  fly  to 
Honolulu,  for  she  had  planned  everything  in  her  mind. 
And  if  anyone  could  have  peeped  under  her  bed  at 
that  moment  they  would  have  seen  a  small  carpet  bag 
packed  with  those  things  that  she  valued.  She  had 
so  often  rehearsed  the  whole  business  and  her  sudden 
flight  that  she  had  several  times  looked  fondly  on  her 
wicked  parent,  as  she  imagined  his  oats  and  distress 
to  find  her  gone  for  ever. 

"Where  yer  hoff  to?"  suddenly  yelled  old  Everard. 
The  girl  had  quickly  snatched  up  her  cloak  and  had 
bolted. 

Her  inward  knowledge  of  Hillary's  love  for  her 


122         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

tremendously  minimised  her  fears  over  her  father's 
wrath  if  he  managed  to  catch  her. 

It  was  just  dusk.  One  or  two  stars  were  already 
out  when  she  opened  the  door  and  made  the  final  bolt 
out  of  the  front  door  into  the  night.  She  gave  a 
startled  cry — she  had  rushed  straight  in  Rajah  Koo 
Macka  's  outstretched  arms ! 

Fate  seemed  to  have  planned  that  it  should  be  so. 
The  Rajah  held  the  girl's  hand  tightly,  almost  fiercely, 
in  his  swarthy  grip.  A  strange  fire  was  burning  in  his 
terrible  eyes. 

"Miss  Everard,  Gabri-arle!  Langi,  0  ke  mako," 
he  murmured,  lapsing  into  his  native  lingo  as  he  gazed 
steadily  into  the  frightened  girl's  eyes.  It  was  a 
masterful  gaze,  serpent-like  in  its  malignant  fascina- 
tion. The  girl  bravely  returned  that  gaze.  The  Rajah 
realised  the  struggle  that  was  going  on  in  her  soul. 
His  instincts  told  him  the  truth.  Gabrielle  wasn't 
the  first.  He  knew  why  her  face  was  pallid,  why  the 
cold  beads  of  perspiration  stood  out  on  her  brow,  dis- 
tinctly revealed  to  his  gaze,  as  though  the  moon  would 
shed  its  beams  and  show  the  pity  of  it  all. 

"Let  me  go!  Do!  Do!"  she  murmured  in  an 
appealing  voice. 

" Gabrie-arle !  I've  come,  not  to  see  your  father 
but  to  see  you,  you,  my  lovlier  whiter  girl,  lovelier, 
nicer!"  he  whispered,  as  in  his  emotion  he  reverted 
to  the  old  pidgin-English  of  his  boyhood,  before  he 
had  joined  the  first  missionary  society  in  Honolulu. 
And  still  Gabrielle  stared  into  those  terrible  eyes.  Her 
lips  half  smiled  as  she  struggled  with  herself.  It  was 
a  terrible  moment  for  her  as  she  stood  there,  her  frame 
trembling  as  she  felt  those  two  terrible  rivals  struggling 


WHEN  THE  STARS  DANCED  123 

to  strangle  each,  other — the  struggle  of  the  white  and 
the  dark  woman  in  her  soul. 

He  whispered  swift,  passionate  words :  "  I  lover  you, 
wine  of  my  heart,  stars  of  my  soul,  O  voice  of  the  waves, 
seas,  night  storm  and  darkness !  0  stars  that  are  like 
the  children  of  our  souls  to  be!"  he  wailed,  as  he 
switched  off  into  his  beloved  verse  libre,  so  popular 
with  his  kind.  He  still  held  her  in  his  clasp,  just  as 
so  many  helpless  women  had  been  held  by  the  devil 
who  reigns  in  tropic  climes. 

Gabrielle  felt  that  the  struggle  was  coming  to  an 
end.  The  cold  perspiration  stood  in  beads  on  her 
brow.  She  felt  faint.  And  the  devil,  who  always 
helps  his  own,  sent  a  shadow  across  the  silvery  track  by 
the  ivory-nut  palms.  That  shadow  touched  the  small 
vine-clad  verandah  of  the  bungalow.  Gabrielle 's  heart 
nearly  stopped  as  she  saw  it,  and  its  darkness  fell  over 
her  own  soul.  Her  horror  was  not  to  be  wondered  at, 
for  the  silhouette  had  taken  human  form  as  something 
rushed  out  of  the  thick  jungle-growth  hard  by. 

There  was  no  real  cause  for  Gabrielle 's  terror  at 
seeing  this  particular  object.  It  was  nothing  more 
than  one  of  the  Rajah's  native  servants,  who  had 
rushed  from  the  bamboo  thickets,  thinking  he  had 
heard  the  Rajah  call  him. 

All  the  foregoing  and  the  Rajah's  successful  domina- 
tion over  the  girl  occupied  about  two  minutes.  He  had 
rained  kisses  on  her  face,  had  whispered  impassioned 
words  in  her  ears,  using  the  names  of  the  Apostles  and 
even  the  name  of  Christ  to  lure  the  girl  back  into 
the  bungalow  and  her  soul  into  darkness.  Gabrielle 
felt  as  though  she  had  had  a  paralytic  stroke  as  he 
gripped  her  hand  and  pushed  her  into  the  front  door- 
way of  the  bungalow.  She  could  hardly  believe  her 


1*4 

senses  as  she  went  half  willingly  forward.  He  was  an 
old  bird  at  the  game ;  years  older  than  Hillary.  He  had 
the  father  on  his  side  too,  and  that  was  natural  enough 
when  one  thinks  of  the  way  the  world  wags.  Most 
men  of  the  Rajah's  type,  by  means  of  their  successful 
hypocrisy,  secure  the  father's  help  to  buttress  up  their 
desires.  Besides,  the  Rajah  had  no  personal  draw- 
backs, for  he  had  no  idealistic  views,  no  sensitiveness 
about  girlish  innocence  and  what  might  be  considered 
impropriety.  So  he  was  strongly  equipped  for  further- 
ing his  requirements;  moreover,  he  had  the  mighty 
power  of  the  Christian  creed  and  the  glory  of  its 
apostles  on  his  side,  so  far  as  hypocritical  protestations 
could  make  them  useful  to  him. 

Old  Everard  was  leaning  over  the  table,  swearing 
like  a  genuine  'Frisco  shellback,  as  they  entered  the 
parlour. 

"Thought  you'd  cleared  out  for  the  evening,"  said 
he,  as  he  stared  querulously  into  his  daughter's  face. 
He  was  too  drunk  to  notice  her  terrified,  helpless  ex- 
pression as  he  staggered  to  his  feet.  He  had  suddenly 
sighted  Koo  Macka,  who  stood  erect,  standing  with 
all  his  grand  insignias  of  Rajahship  behind  the  girl. 
' '  Glad  to  see  you,  bully  boy !  Bless  me  soul,  I  thought 
that  the  girl  had  made  a  bolt,  and  blowed  if  she  hadn  't 
rushed  out  at  hearing  yer  footsteps.  She's  a  bit  gone 
on  you  already,  eh?  Nothing  like  a  woman's  ears 
when  they  want  to  hear ! ' ' 

The  old  man  gave  Macka  a  friendly  nudge  and  at 
once  lifted  a  bottle  and  began  to  pour  out  a  tumbler- 
ful of  Parsons 's  best  Bougainville  Three  Star. 

So  did  the  Rajah  once  more  enter  Gabrielle's  home 
and  gaze  with  his  magnetic  eyes  at  the  girl  on  that  very 
night  when  she  had  promised  to  meet  Hillary ! 


WHEN  THE  STARS  DANCED  125 

The  three  of  them  sat  down  at  the  parlour  table. 
For  quite  a  long  time  Gabrielle  sat  like  a  sphinx, 
a  dazed  look  in  her  eyes.  The  Rajah,  who  sat  opposite 
her,  noticed  that  look.  But  was  he  embarrassed? 
Not  he!  He  simply  rubbed  his  hands  and  gave  an 
extra  curl  to  his  moustache.  He  had  tackled  very 
obstinate  ladies  in  his  time  down  in  the  native  villages. 
And  it  was  immensely  gratifying  to  him  to  think  that 
Everard  was  a  kindly  disposed  white  man  and  did  not 
dine  with  a  war-club  by  his  side — as  old  chief  Mackeroo 
did  when  the  Rajah  sought  his  wife  for  a  convert. 
Blowing  his  nose  in  his  handkerchief,  he  at  once  began 
business.  Gabrielle  quailed  before  his  sinuous,  reptil- 
ian-like glances.  She  was  trembling,  for  she  knew  that 
she  had  met  her  master — and  he  knew  that  she  had  too. 
He  was  watching  her  as  a  cat  watches  a  mouse.  He 
saw  her  eyes  roam  in  a  furtive  way  to  the  door  more 
than  once.  He  knew  that  she  was  ready  to  spring  at 
the  first  unguarded  moment  and  fly  out  into  the  night. 

Old  Everard  wondered  why  they  both  sat  staring 
at  each  other.  He  suddenly  burst  into  speech,  and 
brought  his  fist  down  with  a  bang  on  the  table.  ' '  Why 

the  h don 't  you  speak,  blind  me  eyes  ? "  he  roared. 

He  was  decidedly  drunk.  Macka  lifted  his  eyebrows 
and  then  looked  at  the  old  sailor  and  began  to  quote 
applicable  Scriptural  texts.  His  voice  took  on  quite 
a  melancholy  wail,  the  old  ecclesiastical  drawl  habit, 
as  he  remonstrated  with  the  ex-sailor  for  roaring  in 
such  a  rough  manner  at  so  sweet  a  girl.  Everard 
relented,  even  apologised.  Macka  stretched  forth  his 
hand  in  a  grandiloquent  manner  and  forgave !  About 
half-an-hour  later  the  Rajah's  hopes  had  returned: 
the  girl  was  his ! 

For  the  stars  had  begun  to  dance  before  Gabrielle 's 


126         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

eyes.  She  felt  that  he  wasn't  so  wicked  after  all. 
And  the  reason  for  this  sudden  change  in  her  was  not 
far  to  seek.  The  Rajah  had  slipped  some  rum  and 
opium  into  her  tea,  some  kind  of  mixture  that  is  still 
used  prolifically  by  the  natives  who  wish  to  dope 
artless  girls,  and  sailormen  too!  "Tea's  the  thing! 
Good  old  papalagi's  tea,  wholesome  drink,"  he  had 
chuckled  beneath  his  virile  moustache. 

"Whisky,  I  say!"  Everard  had  wailed,  as  he  stared 
with  bleary  eyes.  But  the  Rajah  would  have  none  of  it. 
He  dearly  loved  tea,  nothing  to  beat  tea,  he  swore. 
That  settled  it.  Everard  told  Gabrielle  to  make  a  pot 
of  tea  at  once.  But  Gabrielle  still  sat  at  the  table 
and  wouldn't  move,  so  Everard  got  up  and  made  the 
tea  himself  and  thought  of  how  he  would  get  his  own 
back  on  his  daughter  when  the  Rajah  had  gone.  Let 
it,  however,  be  said  that  old  Evarard  would  never  have 
made  that  pot  of  tea  had  he  had  the  slightest  hint  of 
the  consequences.  But  he  was  a  fool.  The  ex-sailor 
was  not  so  much  to  blame:  civilisation  has  shrivelled 
up  the  white  man 's  God-given  weapons  of  instinct,  and 
so  he  stands  to-day  a  slave  to  dull  reason,  and  is 
positively  nowhere  when  a  native's  cunning  is  con- 
cerned. It  was  only  natural,  therefore,  that  sinful  old 
Everard  should  fall  into  every  trap  that  the  wily 
Malayan-Papuan,  made  for  his  daughter's  destruction. 
As  the  hours  passed  things  began  to  look  brighter  to 
Gabrielle.  She  forgot  the  night  and  all  that  she  had 
intended  to  do.  As  for  Everard,  he  got  quite  boisterous 
when  she  laughed,  at  last,  at  one  of  his  antiquated 
jokes.  And  then,  as  the  old  man  listened  to  the  Rajah 's 
mellifluous  voice,  he  became  so  emotional  that  he  for- 
got and  wiped  his  nose  on  the  edge  of  the  best  green 
tablecloth.  "Dad!"  whispered  Gabrielle,  in  an  awe- 


WHEN  THE  STARS  DANCED  127 

struck  voice  over  her  parent's  preposterous  act  in  front 
of  the  twelve-dollar  suit  of  clothes  and  jewellery  from 
the  Honolulu  slop-shop. 

The  ex-sailor  lifted  his  grizzled  face  and,  staring 
with  his  bleary  blue  eyes,  gave  his  daughter  a  half -apol- 
ogetic look.  Gabrielle  reddened  to  the  ears  at  the 
thought  of  her  sudden  good  fortune.  It  seemed  that  the 
impossible  was  occurring.  A  Kajah  of  holiest  soul 
looked  fondly  upon  her  and  her  late  swearing  old 
father  sat  there  gazing  into  her  face  apologetically! 
It  was  more  wonderful  than  any  fairy  tale  or  any 
novel  she  had  read.  She  could  have  risen  from  her 
chair  and  sung;  could  even  have  snapped  her  fingers 
with  derision  at  the  phantom-woman  who  she  half 
fancied  was  lurking  outside  the  bungalow. 

Gabrielle  hardly  spoke  as  the  Papuan  Rajah  waved 
his  hand  and  glorified  himself  in  the  eyes  of  his  host 
and  his;  daughter,  expatiating  on  the  virtues  of  Chris- 
tianity and  his  own  true  belief.  Old  Everard  said 
"Amen,"  opened  his  mouth  in  surprise  and  hung  his 
head  for  shame  as  Macka  chided  him  over  his  habitual 
drunkenness.  The  Rajah  pointed  his  dark  finger  at 
the  daughter,  and  said : ' '  See  yon  sacred  maid.  White 
is  she  as  the  spotless  snow  on  the  mountains  of  Kaue. 
Art  not  ashamed,  O  white  man,  to  set  so  bad  example  ? ' ' 
Saying  this,  the  Rajah  opened  his  prettily  bound 
pocket  Bible  and  in  sombre  tones  read  Scriptural  pass- 
ages till  the  old  ex-sailor's  heart  quaked  in  fear  of 
God's  wrath  and  his  own  remorse  over  his  treatment  of 
his  daughter.  And  still  the  dark  missionary  proceeded 
with  his  exhortations.  "Art  not  ashamed,  O  man 
Everard?"  "Yus,  I  ham,"  almost  wailed  the  derelict 
representative  of  the  great  white  races,  as  Macka  con- 
tinued his  Scriptural  denunciations  in  a  sombre  voice. 


128 

Thus  did  Macka  the  half-caste  missionary  further  his 
desires.  But  why  record  all  that  really  happened  that 
night?  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  Everard 's  eyes 
brightened  as  Macka 's  heart  softened,  until  the  brown 
man  quite  forgave  the  white  man  for  his  sins.  Indeed 
that  dim-lit  parlour  became  a  kind  of  confessional-box, 
whilst  Everard  fell  on  his  knees  and  Gabrielle  trembled 
in  mighty  trouble  at  her  former  wicked  thoughts  over 
so  noble,  so  holy  a  missionary. 

Then  the  Rajah  bade  Everard  rise,  and  said:  "0 
white  Everard,  think  no  more  of  thy  sorrows  and  thy 
sins;  frailty  is  the  great  inheritance,  it  is  the  dark 
shadow  that  maketh  the  light  to  shine  and  so  doth 
beautify  human  existence."  Then  Everard  took  an- 
other swill  at  the  whisky  bottle  and  most  foolishly  mixed 
his  drinks.  And  still  the  heathen  man  meandered 
on,  and  murmured  into  the  ex-sailor 's  ears :  ' '  O  heed 
not  the  great  pearl  scheme  that  I  wished  you  to  venture 
upon;  for  I  say  unto  these  that  I've  other  business 
on  hand.  And  more,  for  the  sake  of  thy  friendship 
and  contrite  heart,  and  thy  hallowed  daughter"  (he 
pointed  with  outstretched  finger  at  Gabrielle),  "I'll 
give  thee  double  the  sum  that  any  pearl  scheme  may 
have  brought  thee." 

So  spoke  Macka  as  he  dropped  into  the  Kanaka's 
usual  Biblical  style,  since  it  was  from  the  Bible  that 
most  of  them  derived  their  first  lessons  in  our  tongue. 
Indeed,  it  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  the  heathen 
was  considerably  overcome  by  his  own  self-glorification. 
As  for  the  white  man,  he  said  holy  things,  wailed  out 
that  he  believed  in  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  holy  Catholic 
Church,  the  Communion  of  Saints  and  the  sacramental 
drink  of  the  best  rum !  Then  the  aged  drunken  idiot 


WHEN  THE  STARS  DANCED  129 

swallowed  another  tumblerful  of  whisky  and  fell  for- 
ward on  his  knees. 

Gabriel] e  began  to  think  that  she  must  be  dreaming 
it  all :  that  scene  as  she  sat  in  the  wicker  chair  watching. 
Then  the  noble  Rajah  sang  weird  songs.  His  voice 
was  mellow  and  pathetically  sweet,  nicely  tinged  with 
tragedian-like  sadness  that  lingered  in  Gabrielle 's  ears. 
It  was  all  strangely  blasphemous.  Old  Everard  simply 
fell  forward  on  the  floor,  holding  the  rum  bottle  tightly 
in  his  hand.  Gabrielle  and  Macka  laid  him  down 
comfortably  on  his  settee.  There  he  lay,  his  head 
forward,  mouth  dribbling,  one  arm  dangling  to  the 
floor,  so  drunk  was  he. 

Gabrielle  cried  softly  to  herself  as  she  placed  his  head 
in  a  more  comfortable  position  and  bunched  the  pillow 
up.  Then  she  turned  aside  in  a  terrible  despair  and 
gazed  in  mute  appeal  into  those  masterful  eyes.  "Let 
me  escape, ' '  her  lips  mumbled,  and  her  voice  sounded 
far  off. 

It  was  no  good;  the  man  was  relentless.  He  still 
moaned  his  beautiful  words,  whispering  warm  Malayan 
phrases  into  her  ear.  She  did  not  understand  his 
native  tongue,  but  her  instincts  heard.  The  hour 
was  late. 

Gabrielle  half  heard  the  rustling  of  swift-moving 
feet  outside  the  bungalow.  A  thick  mist  seemed  to 
lie  over  the  furniture.  She  felt  that  something  had 
crept  into  the  room,  something  terrible  and  not  to  be 
denied.  A  swarthy  expression  passed  over  her  face 
as  she  leaned  forward  and  listened,  for  once  more  she 
could  hear  the  tribal  drums  beating  somewhere  across 
the  centuries.  It  did  not  horrify  her  as  before.  Macka 
was  there  and  his  eyes  had  an  all-powerful  look :  why 
he  frightened  in  his  masterful  presence?  But  still  she 
9 


130          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

tried  to  struggle  to  her  feet  and  rush  out  of  the  par- 
lour door.  For  a  moment  she  forgot  and  fancied  she 
was  standing  on  the  derelict  out  in  the  straits.  "Hil- 
lary! Hillary!"  she  wailed,  as  she  thought  of  the 
stranded  apprentice  and  fancied  she  still  looked  into 
his  eyes.  Slowly  the  fumes  did  their  work,  fumes  of 
opium  and  the  drink  slipped  into  her  tea.  She  still 
heard  the  Papuan 's  voice ;  it  was  not  a  voice  near  her, 
it  was  a  call  coming  across  distant  spaces.  And  still 
she  struggled,  as  she  called  out  the  long-forgotten  name 
of  the  missionary,  one  who  had  taught  her  in  the  mis- 
sion-room from  her  earliest  childhood.  But  no  answer 
came,  only  the  snores  of  her  drunken  father  and  the 
sounds  of  tribal  drums  a  hundred  years  away.  Then 
the  lights  burned  low.  Even  the  Rajah  was  overcome 
with  heathenish  emotion  as  she  stood  by  the  window 
and,  lifting  her  face,  looked  out  on  the  stars  and  in  a 
strange  way  scraped  her  pale  hands  up  and  down  the 
glass,  as  though  she  would  tear  aside  the  veil  that 
divided  her  from  freedom  and  the  outer  world. 

And  Hillary,  who  waited  by  the  lagoon,  walked  up 
and  down,  up  and  down,  full  of  hope,  full  of  faith. 
And  he  was  still  walking  silently  on  the  silvery  sands 
by  the  tossing  seas,  like  a  pale  figure  of  romance,  as 
dawn  crept  over  the  mountains  and  the  stars  went 
home.  And  still  Gabrielle  did  not  come. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
HEATHEN  LAND 

IN  the  morning  old  Everard  awoke  with  a  swollen 
head. 
Gabby!  Gabrielle!"  He  shouted.  Then, 
wondering  why  on  earth  the  girl  did  not  reply,  he 
struggled  to  his  feet,  opened  the  door  and  went  up  the 
three  steps  that  led  into  her  bedroom.  Her  bed  was 
neatly  made — it  had  not  been  slept  in.  He  was  so 
puzzled  about  it  all  that  he  looked  out  of  the  small 
open  window  to  see  if  she  'd  fallen  out — notwithstand- 
ing that  the  window  was  six  feet  from  the  ground. 
Then  he  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow  and  remem- 
bered Rajah  Macka's  visit.  "Rajah  Koo  Macka!"  he 
shouted. 

"God  damn  it!  I  don't  remember  'im  going,"  he 
mumbled,  as  he  stumped  his  wooden  leg  about  the 
room  till  the  bungalow  shook,  and  began  whimpering 
like  a  fretful  child,  nearly  falling  down  with  sudden 
dizziness.  Recovering  himself,  he  got  into  a  frightful 
rage  and  began  to  roar  mighty  oaths.  "Gabby! 
Gabby!  1 11  a-murder  you !  Where  are  you?  Damn! 
My  eyes !  Ter  'ell  with  Macka !  Ter  'ell  with  every- 
thing! Where  are  you?"  Then  he  swung  his  wooden 
leg  round,  poked  it  right  through  the  velvet-lined 
screen  that  Gabrielle  had  so  neatly  lined,  and  gave  a 
terrible  oath. 

Then  he  cooled  down.  The  reaction  had  begun  to 
set  in.  His  brain  began  to  reason  over  it  all.  He 
rushed  outside,  stumped  about  and  stumped  back 

131 


132          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

again.  "Where  is  she?  What's  it  all  mean?  She's 
not  the  kind  of  girl  to  go  off  by  night  with  Macka," 
were  his  reflections.  All  day  long  he  called  and  called. 
Then  he  left  the  bungalow  and  roamed  away  to  the 
native  villages  in  search  of  her.  He  kicked  up  an 
awful  commotion.  The  natives  for  miles  thought  a  new 
kind  of  spirit  with  a  wooden  leg  had  escaped  from 
shadow-land,  for  as  they  peeped  from  their  hut  doors 
they  saw  old  Everard  frantically  waving  his  arms, 
shouting  vehemently,  swearing  and  calling  out: 
"Gabby!  Gabby!"  He  arrived  back  at  his  bungalow 
at  dusk.  ' '  Gab ! ' '  he  shouted.  But  she  was  still  miss- 
ing. The  old  ex-sailor  realised  all  that  Gabrielle  had 
been  to  him  in  his  desolate  life. 

He  wept.  He  got  terribly  drunk  and  kept  calling 
out:  "Gabrielle!  My  Gab!  Come  back  to  your  old 
father!"  Then  he  mumbled  in  a  self-soothing  way: 
"She  ain't  really  gone.  Macka 's  so  relygious.  'E 
wouldn't  take  'er  from  me.  No!  P'r'aps  she's  gone 
to  the  b German's  wife  at  K ,  or  the  mission- 
room  at  Tomba-kao."  Once  more  he  got  up  and 
began  to  stump  about.  He  seemed  to  go  mad.  He 
rushed  again  and  again  into  the  girl 's  bedroom,  caught 
his  peg-leg  in  the  fibre  mats  and  fell  down.  "It's  'er 
gown,  'er  pretty  gown,"  he  wailed.  The  tears  rolled 
down  his  cheeks.  He  actually  put  his  lips  to  the 
girl's  washed-out,  torn  garment  and  kissed  it.  Poor 
old  man!  He  had  never  really  found  his  true  self. 
All  the  chances  and  virtues  that  might  have  been  his 
had  been  shattered  by  gross  surroundings. 

After  a  while  he  cooled  down  again.  "Who'd  'ave 
thought  it!  Who'd  'ave  thought  it!"  he  wailed.  He 
returned  to  his  parlour.  The  room  looked  dark  and 
comfortless.  A  terrible  suspicion  was  haunting  his 


HEATHEN  LAND  133 

mind.  But  it  was  too  late.  His  faith  in  Macka's  su- 
preme holiness  had  begun  to  slacken  slightly.  Old 
remembrances  and  God-given  instincts  that  had  been 
his  in  the  long-ago,  pre-rum  days  came  back  to  him. 
But  he  sought  the  weak  man's  support,  and  poured 
fiery  liquid  between  his  trembling  lips. 

"Gabby!    Gabby!    Come  to  me!    I  'm  ill,  so  ill ! " 

Then  he  jumped,  and  looked  quite  startled  and 
sober.  He  'd  never  hurried  so  much  in  his  life  as  he  put 
the  bottle  down  and,  with  his  eyes  gleaming  with  half- 
fearful  delight,  stumped  towards  the  front  door.  Some- 
one had  knocked. 

So  great  was  his  hurry  that  he  stumbled  as  he  rushed 
from  the  room.  "She's  come  back,  me  dear  gal,  come 
to  'eroldpa!" 

He  opened  the  door  and  stared  at  the  form  in  the 
gloom  for  a  moment,  then  swayed  and  fell  down — fell 
in  sheer  misery  and  disappointment,  for  it  wasn't 
Gabrielle  who  stood  there — it  was  Hillary. 

Hillary  did  not  gasp  or  say  one  word  that  would 
suit  the  pages  of  a  novel ;  he  simply  brought  out  the 
unromantic  words:  "God,  what  luck!  He's  drunk!" 

The  young  apprentice  swiftly  leaned  forward  and 
picked  up  the  old  ex-sailor. 

Hillary's  whole  soul  was  bursting  to  know  why 
Gabrielle  hadn  't  kept  the  appointment  by  the  lagoon. 
He  was  delighted  to  see  Everard  drunk.  It  had 
flashed  through  his  sanguine,  hopeful  soul  that  there 
had  been  a  domestic  rumpus  and  that  was  the  cause 
of  Gabrielle  not  turning  up  at  the  trysting- place,  where 
he  had  waited  all  night. 

He  carried  the  old  man  as  tenderly  as  possible  into 
the  parlour.  The  thought  that  he  was  really  Gabrielle 's 
father  made  him  feel  quite  tender  towards  the  drunken 


134          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

man.  He'd  never  been  in  that  parlour  before.  He 
looked  round.  Where  was  she  ? 

' ' Gabrielle,  your  poor  father's  taken  ill— it's  Hillary 
who  calls!"  And  then  he  stood  holding  the  old  man 
up,  his  heart  thumping  with  the  mighty  expectation 
of  seeing  the  girl  enter  the  room,  with  secret  joy  at  her 
father's  blind,  drunken  eyes  at  such  an  opportune 
moment. 

Hillary  had  come  straight  to  Everard's  bungalow 
determined  to  risk  all,  to  defy  the  old  man  outright 
and  get  one  glimpse  of  the  girl's  face  and  some  kind 
of  an  explanation,  even  if  he  had  to  fight  his  way  in. 
He  called  again :  ' '  Gabrielle !  Gabrielle !  Why  don 't 
you  come?"  But  the  expected  rustle  of  her  dress, 
the  glorious  look  of  surprise  in  her  eyes  at  seeing  him 
as  she  rushed  into  the  room,  all  that  his  imagination 
anticipated,  was  only  mocked  by  the  echo  of  his  own 
voice. 

He  sat  the  old  man  in  the  big  arm-chair.  Everard 
opened  his  eyes  and  stared  like  an  imbecile  at  the 
youth. 

" Where's  my  Gabby?  Who  the  'ell  are  you?" 
moaned  the  ex-sailor. 

"I'm  Hillary,  Gabrielle 's  friend.  I'm  teaching  her 
to  play  the  violin ;  it  will  be  a  great  help  to  her.  She 
can  make  money  by  teaching,  and  be  able  to  help  you 
too, ' '  blurted  forth  the  apprentice  in  that  inspiration 
that  comes  to  lovers  who  have  rehearsed  a  thousand 
excuses  for  suddenly  appearing  before  a  prospective 
father-in-law. 

Old  Everard  was  too  far  gone  with  rum  and  grief 
to  be  interested  in  the  commercial  side  of  a  prospective 
son-in-law. 

' '  You  're  'Illary !  Violin !  Play  musick !  You  b 


HEATHEN  LAND  135 

villainous  scoundrel !  What  have  you  done  with  'er  ? " 
yelled  the  old  man,  as  he  struggled  to  his  feet,  a 
terribly  vicious  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Done  with  who?  Where's  Gabrielle?"  Hillary 
shouted  out  in  a  voice  that  somehow  managed  to  tell 
the  old  man  that  the  youth  before  him  thought  that  he 
too  had  a  right  to  know  where  Gabrielle  was. 

In  a  moment  the  ex-sailor's  mad  passion  subsided. 
He  leaned  forward  and  stared  into  Hillary 's  eyes  and 
saw  the  despair,  the  appeal,  the  light  of  sincerity  and 
truth,  everything  that  he  had  not  seen  in  Koo  Macka's 
eyes.  In  a  moment  the  old  man  relented. 

"Ain't  yer  seen  'er,  kid?  She's  gone!  Bolted  with 
Macka,  the  Rajah !  Find  'er,  boy,  find  'er  for  me.  You 
can  'ave  her,  she's  my  Gabby!"  wailed  the  despair- 
ing father. 

Hillary 's  heart  nearly  stopped  beating.  He  couldn  't 
sum  up  courage  enough  to  ask  the  old  man  to  explain 
what  he  meant.  He  dreaded  to  hear  something,  he 
knew  not  what.  Then  the  old  man  continued : 

"God  forgive  me  for  thinking  ill  of  you.  He  sent 
you  'ere  ter-night  to  comfort  'er  ole  father. ' ' 

Hillary  still  held  the  man's  hand,  to  give  himself 
courage  as  well  as  to  comfort  the  old  man. 

"  'Ave  a  drop  er  rum,  boy?"  said  the  old  man. 
Hillary  did  not  hesitate.  He  held  the  tumblerful  of 
liquid  to  his  lips  and  swallowed  the  lot.  Everard 
clutched  the  youth's  trembling  hand  and  almost  shed 
tears  as  the  rum  loosened  the  apprentice's  lips  and  he 
told  the  ex-sailor  all  that  he  felt  for  his  daughter. 
Even  Hillary  was  astonished  to  find  that  saturnine 
old  drunkard  so  tender-hearted,  so  friendly  towards 
him. 

After  Everard  had  taken  terrible  oaths  and  sworn 


136         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

vengeance  against  the  Rajah,  he  finished  up  by  yelling 
into  Hillary 's  ears  that  he  would  give  Hillary,  or  any- 
one else,  two  hundred  pounds  if  they  could  trace 
Gabrielle's  whereabouts.  Hillary  took  the  distracted 
father's  hand  and  said:  "I  don't  want  money;  I 
only  want  to  see  Gabrielle,  to  bring  your  daughter  back 
to  you,  and  take  her  away  from  that  man."  The 
apprentice  couldn't  persuade  himself  to  mention  the 
name  of  the  man  who  had  apparently  done  him  this 
great  injury.  Hillary  had  only  seen  the  Papuan  Rajah 
twice,  but  the  man's  face  was  as  vividly  before  him 
as  if  he  had  known  him  for  a  thousand  years. 

At  that  moment  he  did  not  want  Gabrielle's  father 
to  see  his  eyes.  He  felt  ashamed  that  they  should  be 
dimmed  with  emotion.  He  was  overcome  by  the  feel- 
ing that  he  was  the  first  to  love  and  have  faith  in 
woman;  the  first  to  have  idealistic  views  about  hon- 
our and  the  ways  of  men;  the  first  to  run  away  to 
sea  with  fourpence  in  his  pocket  to  fight  the  world, 
to  aspire  for  fame  and  wealth,  only  to  find  himself 
sleeping  out  in  a  strange  land — in  a  dust-bin  with  the 
lid  on!  But  at  the  thought  of  Gabrielle's  manner  on 
the  wreck,  her  tears,  her  eagerness  to  fly  to  Honolulu 
with  him,  the  look  in  her  eyes,  his  dark  thoughts 
fled  like  bats  from  his  brain,  and  once  again  hope 
reasserted  itself. 

Hillary  took  the  old  ex-sailor 'a  hand  and  promised 
to  stop  the  night  with  him.  "Don't  let  us  waste  the 
time,  it  will  be  dark  soon, ' '  said  the  apprentice.  After 
a  little  rebellious  talk  Everard  promised  to  drink  no 
more,  then  putting  on  his  cap  he  went  off  as  obediently 
as  a  child  to  make  inquiries.  And  so  Everard  went 
down  to  Rokeville,  while  Hillary  went  off  on  a  voyage 
of  discovery  into  the  surrounding  villages.  His  faith 


HEATHEN  LAND  137 

in  Gabrielle  had  by  now  completely  returned.  He 
knew  that  she  had  strange  notions,  and  had  many 
girl  friends  among  the  Polynesian  natives  who  dwelt 
with  the  native  tribes.  He  so  far  recovered  his  spirits 
that  he  even  whistled  as  he  went  off  down  the  track. 
He  made  straight  for  the  native  village  of  Ackra  Ackra, 
where  the  great  head-hunter  chief  Ingrova  dwelt.  It 
was  near  to  sunset  when  he  at  length  passed  through 
the  great  forest  of  giant  bread-fruits  that  divided  the 
native  villages  from  the  south-east  shore.  As  he 
entered  the  tiny  pagan  citadel  the  women  and  girls 
greeted  him  with  their  friendly  salutations  and  the 
usual  cries  for  tam-bak  (tobacco). 

The  unlit  coco-nut-oil  lamps  were  swinging  from  the 
banyan  boughs  and  flamboyants  that  sheltered  the 
small  huts  and  palavanas  as  he  strode  across  the  rara 
(cleared  space).  The  shaggy-headed  native  women 
clapped  their  hands  as  he  passed.  Some  of  the  elder 
tattooed  men  and  chiefesses  puffed  their  short  clay 
pipes  and  stared  stolidly  upon  him.  Just  by  the  vil- 
lage patch  Maga  Maroo,  pretty  Silva  Sula  and  some 
more  dusky  flappers  threw  their  brown-stockinged  legs 
skyward  with  delight  as  the  dusky  Lotharios  gave  wild 
encores  in  a  strange  barbarian  tongue.  Even  Hillary 
smiled  as  he  saw  the  artless,  picturesque  vanity  of  the 
girls  as  they  sported  their  fine  clothes  on  the  tiny 
promenade  that  was  the  lamp-lit  Strand  of  their  little 
forest  city.  He  saw  at  a  glance  by  those  demonstrative 
exhibitions  of  European  toilets,  and  fringed  swathings 
of  yellow  and  scarlet  sashes,  that  the  artful  traders 
had  been  that  way  exchanging  their  trumpery  jewellery 
and  gaudy  silks  for  copra  and  shells. 

Arriving  before  the  Chief  Ingrova 's  palatial  pala- 
vana,  Hillary  was  pleased  to  find  that  the  great  chief 


138         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

was  at  home.  As  the  big,  muscular,  mop-headed 
islander  stood  before  him,  he  made  numerous  stealthy 
inquiries  to  find  out  if  the  chief  had  the  slightest  hint 
of  the  girl's  whereabouts.  But  seeing  that  the  chief 
was  quite  sincere  in  his  protestations  that  he  hadn't 
seen  her  for  quite  two  weeks,  Hillary  at  once  told  him 
that  she  was  missing  from  home.  Hillary  had  per- 
sistently had  the  idea  in  his  head  that  Gabrielle  might 
be  hiding  in  one  of  the  villages  in  fear  of  her  father's 
wrath,  for  he  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  old 
man  had  had  a  row  with  the  girl  and  had  deliberately 
kept  that  fact  from  him.  The  aged  chief,  who  was  a 
fine  example  of  his  race,  swayed  his  war-club  and 
wanted  to  go  off  in  search  of  the  missing  girl  at  once. 
His  eyes  blazed  with  delight  at  the  prospect  of  obtain- 
ing the  head  of  the  miscreant  who  had  lured  the  girl 
from  her  home.  The  chief  had  a  fierce  idea  of  equity 
and  justice ;  he  was  a  stern  disciplinarian  in  following 
the  tenets  of  his  religion,  the  code  of  morals  laid  down 
by  his  tribal  ancestors.  Indeed  it  was  well  known  that 
he  would  not  deviate  from  his  ideas  of  honest  finance 
by  one  shell  or  coco-nut.  And  it  can  be  recorded  that 
the  mythological  gods  and  legendary  personages  who 
were  the  great  apostles  of  his  creed  were  more  to  him 
in  his  inborn  faith  than  the  Biblical  wonders  of  the 
Christian  creed  are  to  nine-tenths  of  the  Sunday 
church-goers  who  worship  at  its  altars. 

Hillary  listened  silently  to  the  chief's  moralising 
and  his  loud  lamentations  over  Gabrielle 's  absence 
from  home  and  felt  assured  that  the  chief  knew  noth- 
ing about  it.  It  was  true  enough,  Ingrova  had  never 
heard  of  Macka,  otherwise  Hillary  might  have  been 
considerably  enlightened,  for  the  old  chief  was  usually 
friendly  to  the  white  men.  The  apprentice  gave  the 


HEATHEN  LAND  139 

chief  a  plug  of  ship's  tobacco,  then  implored  him  to 
kill  no  one  and  secure  no  head  for  the  adornment  of 
his  hut  till  he  was  quite  certain  that  it  was  the  head  of 
the  real  culprit.  Though  Hillary  was  convinced  that 
Ingrova  had  spoken  the  truth,  he  still  nursed  the  idea 
that  Gabrielle  was  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  her 
father's  home.  He  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe 
that  Gabrielle  had  really  bolted  or  been  carried  off 
by  the  Rajah.  The  idea  of  such  a  thing  had  left  his 
mind.  He  had  thought  of  her  manner  on  the  wreck 
only  an  hour  before.  "A  girl  so  innocent  that  I 
wouldn't  utter  a  coarse  word  in  her  presence — she — 
go  off  with  an  abomination  like  that — a  dark  man — 
impossible ! ' '  had  been  his  final  summing  up,  and  then 
in  his  vehemence  he  had  kicked  his  Panama  hat 
sky-high. 

Hillary's  face  was  flushed  with  the  thoughts  that 
surged  through  his  head  as  he  turned  back  and,  gazing 
at  Ingrova,  said :  ' '  Look  here,  Ingrova,  old  pal,  if  you 
can  find  any  trace  whatsoever  of  the  girl  I'll  give 
you  a  lot  of  money  and  my  best  grey  suit  of  clothes, 
see?"  The  apprentice  knew  that  he  was  offering  the 
chief  inexhaustible  wealth  by  promising  him  a  suit  of 
clothes.  For  if  a  Solomon  Islander  has  one  weakness  it 
is  a  heartaching  desire  to  possess  European  clothes. 

In  a  moment  Ingrova 's  ears  were  alert ;  his  deep-set 
eyes  twinkled  with  avarice.  He  immediately  rubbed 
his  dusky  hands  together  and,  lifting  one  hand,  swore 
allegiance  to  Hillary's  cause.  "I  find  girler  if  she 
bouter  'ere ! ' '  said  he,  bringing  his  war-club  down  with 
a  terrific  whack  on  the  fallen  bread-fruit  trunk  as  they 
stood  there  in  the  silence  of  the  forest. 

"What's  that?"  The  apprentice  could  hear  ap- 
proaching footsteps. 


140         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

He  rubbed  his  eyes.  What  on  earth  had  happened 
to  Ingrova  ?  There  he  stood,  stiff  and  erect,  his  arms 
crooked;  he  had  suddenly  undergone  a  wonderful 
transformation — looked  like  some  gnarled  old  tree 
trunk  that  had  been  carved  so  as  to  resemble  a  man. 
For  only  the  eyes  blinked.  At  the  sound  of  approach- 
ing footsteps  he  had  swiftly  succumbed  to  the  old 
primitive  instincts,  and  become,  as  it  were,  a  part  of 
the  silent  tropical  forest. 

Looking  swiftly  round,  Hillary  observed  a  dusky, 
wrinkled  face  and  bright  eyes  peeping  cautiously 
through  the  tall,  thick  ferns  that  grew  around  the 
spot  where  they  stood.  Ingrova 's  form  immediately 
relaxed;  it  was  no  enemy  who  sought  to  club  him; 
it  was  only  the  friendly  face  of  old  Oom  Pa.  It  was 
very  evident  that  Oom  Pa  had  heard  the  speech  of  the 
Englishman,  and  knowing  that  the  white  missionaries 
disapproved  of  very  many  of  the  things  his  priest- 
hood called  on  him  to  do  in  the  performance  of  heathen 
rites,  he  had  approached  warily.  Seeing  that  only  one 
white  papalagi  was  there,  Oom  Pa  stepped  forth  from 
the  thickets  and  forced  his  finest  deceitful  smile  to 
his  thin  lips. 

''Nice  day,"  quoth  Hillary. 

"Verra  nicer,  papalagi,"  muttered  the  heathen  ec- 
clesiastic, after  looking  up  at  Ingrova,  who  winked 
and  raised  his  tattooed  brows  to  reassure  the  suspi- 
cious priest.  Oom  Pa  prostrated  himself  in  his  most 
gracious  manner  before  Hillary.  In  a  moment  he  had 
risen  to  his- feet,  and  standing  with  head  inclined  he 
listened  to  Ingrova,  who  had  begun  to  tell  him  the 
cause  of  the  white  man 's  visit. 

"Oo  woomba!"  said  the  priest,  rubbing  his  chin 
reflectively,  then  said:  "Nicer  white  girl's  goner? 


HEATHEN  LAND  141 

She  who  gotter  eyes  like  sky  when  stars  walker  'bout, 
and  gotter  hair  liker  sunset  on  rivers?" 

"That's  her!"  ejaculated  Hillary  dramatically. 
His  heart  thumped  with  hope.  Oom  Pa's  manner 
made  him  think  that  Gabrielle  was  somewhere  close 
behind  him,  hiding  in  the  palms.  The  old  priest 
winked  and  put  on  a  wise  look.  Then  he  looked  up 
and,  shaking  his  head  all  the  while  that  he  spoke,  he 
told  Hillary  that  he  had  not  the  slightest  idea  as  to 
the  girl 's  whereabouts. 

' '  I  not  know  where  girl  is,  but  I  knower  you  mean 
white  girl  who  comes  and  jumper  on  pae  pae  and  dance 
at  festival,  one,  two  nights.  But  she  did  fly  away  like 
beautiful  tabarab  (spirit)  in  forest." 

' '  Dance  on  pae  pae  and  run  away  into  the  forest ! ' ' 
said  Hillary  in  surprise.  "Good  gracious!  She's  not 
the  girl  I'm  looking  for.  It's  a  white  girl  I'm  after, 
one  who  wears  a  blue  dress,  coiled-up  tresses  of  gold 
that  fall  over  her  brow;  she's  white  and  beautiful. 
Dance  on  your  damned  pae  pae!  Phew ! "  said  Hillary, 
putting  his  foot  out  and  kicking  vigorously. 

Oom  Pa  also  metaphorically  kicked  himself.  He 
wondered  what  trouble  his  incautious  remarks  might 
cause  both  to  himself  and  the  girl.  He  swiftly  realised 
that  it  was  an  unusual  thing  for  a  white  girl  to  do  a 
jig  on  a  pae  pae;  he  also  knew  that  the  white  men 
might  think  that  he  had  something  to  do  with  the 
girl 's  strange  leaning  towards  his  heathenish  creed,  and 
so  would  blame  him  for  anything  that  might  have 
happened  to  her.  Consequently  he  at  once  put  his 
hand  to  his  brow,  shook  his  head  and  intimated  that 
he  was  "old  fool"  to  make  such  a  mistake. 

Ingrova,  who  had  immediately  realised  how  near 
the  priest  had  been  to  letting  out  that  he  knew  some- 


142         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

thing  about  Gabrielle,  astutely  changed  the  conversa- 
tion and  begged  Hillary  and  the  priest  to  enter  his 
palavana.  In  a  moment  Ingrova  had  bent  his  stal- 
wart figure  and  entered  the  low  doorway  of  his  rather 
palatial  hut.  Hillary  and  priest  followed. 

The  apprentice,  who  had  never  been  inside  a  primi- 
tive homestead,  was  surprised  as  he  entered  the  gloomy, 
tightly  thatched  dwelling-place  of  Ingrova.  It  was 
sheltered  by  the  branches  of  two  huge  bread-fruits, 
was  conical-shaped  and  had  a  large  domed  roof.  The 
rooms  were  spacious,  about  twelve  feet  from  wall  to 
wall.  Each  room  was  lit  up  by  primitive  window  holes. 
These  windows  had  no  glass  in  them,  but  were  fash- 
ioned of  twisted,  interlaced  bamboo  twigs  in  a  clever 
ornamental  style,  making  them  look  like  casements 
that  opened  on  to  feathery  palm-trees.  Indeed,  often 
by  night  one  could  have  peeped  through  those  case- 
ments and  seen  the  festival  maidens  dancing  on  the 
village  green  while  rows  of  coco-nut-oil  lamps  twinkled 
from  the  palm  and  bread-fruit  boughs.  As  the  ap- 
prentice stared  round  the  room,  the  dim  light  intensi- 
fied the  surroundings.  They  were  strange  ornaments, 
no  mistake  about  that.  On  the  wooden  walls  hung 
the  human  skulls  and  bones  of  the  sad  departed. 
Noticing  Hillary's  curious  stare  as  he  regarded  the 
beautifully  polished  skulls,  many  of  which  still  had 
hair  clinging  to  the  bone,  Ingrova  waxed  sentimental, 
stepped  forward  and  took  the  smallest  skull  down  from 
its  nail.  Pointing  to  the  empty  sockets  with  his  dusky 
finger,  the  chief  murmured  in  sombre  tones :  "Ah  papa- 
lagi,  'twas  in  these  holes  where  once  sparkled  like  unto 
stars  in  the  wind-blown  lagoon  the  eyes  of  her  who 
was  my  first  parumpuan  (wife)."  Then  he  sighed, 
and  continued:  "  'Tis  true,  0  papalagi,  that  those  eyes 


HEATHEN  LAND  143 

did  once  gaze  and  look  kindly  on  him  whom  I  did 
hate  overmuch.  But  'tis  over  now,  these  many  years ; 
and  moreover,  man,  too,  doth  much  which  he  no  ought 
to  do.  And  I  say,  0  papalagi,  does  not  the  moon  stare 
with  kindness  on  more  lagoons  than  one?" 

As  he  said  this  the  old  chief  made  several  magic 
passes  with  his  forefinger,  pushing  it  across  and  within 
the  sockets  as  he  sighed  deeply.  Then  he  proceeded: 
"Here,  between  these  teeth,  was  the  tongue  that  sang 
to  me  when  my  head  was  weary  and  mucher  trouble  did 
come  to  my  peoples. ' '  At  this  moment  the  old  warrior 
looked  sadly  through  the  doorway  and  sighed.  Once 
more  he  put  forth  his  hands  and  took  down  the  remain- 
ing portion  of  that  delicate  skeleton.  Hillary  gazed  in 
intense  wonder.  He  noticed  that  the  white  bones  were 
fastened  together  with  finest  sennet,  joined  with  great 
artistic  dexterity,  not  a  bone  being  out  of  place.  His 
thoughts  about  Gabrielle  for  the  time  being  had  van- 
ished, as  the  mystery  of  that  hut  clung  like  a  shroud 
about  him.  ' '  What 's  that  ? "  he  murmured,  as  he  gazed 
on  the  gruesome  object  that  Ingrova  held  up  before 
him.  He  felt  shivery  in  the  gloom,  notwithsanding  the 
tropical  heat  and  the  buzzing  sand-flies. 

As  the  two  old  hags  who  were  squated  on  mats  in 
the  far  corner  of  the  room  revealed  their  presence  by 
giving  a  deep  sigh,  Ingrova  proceeded :  ' '  Tis  all  that 
remains  of  her  form,  which  I  did  lover  overmuch. 
Look,  O  papalagi,  here  was  her  bosom ;  'twas  here  that 
she  gave  unto  my  children  nicer  nourishing  milk,  chil- 
dren who  now  am  great  chiefs  and  chief  esses. ' ' 

Saying  this,  the  warrior  ran  his  fingers  down  the 
curves  of  the  dead  woman 's  throat  bones  till  he  arrived 
at  the  tiny  bones  of  the  breast,  then  his  finger  swerved 
to  the  right,  passed  round  by  the  ribs  and  moved 


144         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

downward  towards  the  sharp  white  bones  of  the  thighs. 

"Good  heavens!"  was  Hillary's  only  audible  com- 
ment, as  he  inwardly  thanked  God  that  white  people 
did  not  keep  their  dead  so  that  they  could  be  inspected 
like  grim  photo  albums  on  visiting  days. 

Ingrova  gently  hung  up  those  sad  heirlooms  of  his 
past  affections  on  their  several  nails  again.  Hillary, 
who  by  now  had  entered  into  the  tragic  spirit  of  the 
weird  homestead,  pointed  to  the  various  gruesome 
remains  and  asked  Ingrova  whose  were  the  fourteen 
skulls  that  hung  on  a  kind  of  clothes-line  that  ran 
across  the  room,  close  to  the  roof.  Even  old  Oom  Pa 
sighed  as  he  watched  Ingrova  take  down  each  bleached 
skull  and  solemnly  point  to  the  empty  sockets,  telling 
of  bright  eyes  and  gabbling  tongues  that  once  made 
music,  sang  songs,  and  knew  laughter  and  tears. 
One  had  been  a  great  high  priest  who  had  died  at  the 
hands  of  the  white  men  sooner  than  swerve  from  the 
spiritual  path  that  he  deemed  the  right  one.  He  was 
one  of  the  old  Solomon  Island  martyrs.  Hillary  no- 
ticed that  this  special  skull  was  high-domed,  revealing 
by  its  protuberance  the  reverence  that  man  has  for 
higher  things,  and  also  imagination.  The  teeth  were 
perfect.  Another  was  quite  flat-headed,  the  hair  woolly 
and  the  eye-sockets  small.  After  much  preamble  on 
Ingrova 's  part,  Hillary  gathered  that  this  skull  be- 
longed to  the  social  reformer  of  the  tribe.  Yet  another 
high-domed  remnant  had  bulging  bone  brows,  the  skull 
being  altogether  curiously  shaped.  "Who  was  he,  O 
mighty  Ingrova?"  said  Hillary  with  a  good  deal  of 
reverence. 

Ingrova  answered  in  this  wise:  "He  was,  O  papa- 
lagi,  the  great  witch-singer  of  these  lands.  It  was 
in  that  little  skull-hole  where  flamed  the  magic  that 


HEATHEN  LAND  145 

sang  unto  us,  telling  the  sorrow  of  the  dying  moons, 
and  of  the  voices  of  wandering  rivers  and  ocean  caves. 
He  looker  through  those  holes"  (here  the  chief  pointed 
to  the  empty  eye-sockets),  "where  stare  the  light  of 
the  stars,  the  sunsets  and  moonsets,  when  he  did  once 
stand  beneath  these  very  palms,  by  that  doorway,  and 
say  to  my  tribe :  'Man  am  no  long  to  live,  and,  too,  his 
love  and  joy  oft  depart  ere  his  body  go  its  way.  All 
things  must  die,  though  the  corals  rise  and  the  palms 
stand  for  ever  before  the  eyes  of  day,  man's  songs  must 
cease  and  he  got  to  sleep. '  ' 

"Dear  me!  What  a  nice  old  fellow  he  must  have 
been,"  muttered  Hillary. 

Ingrova  had  gesticulated  and  spoken  in  such  a  way 
that  he  almost  saw  the  sorrow  of  the  poet's  long-dead 
eyes  looking  through  the  sockets  of  the  skull. 

"Well,  if  this  is  a  typical  Solomon  Island  home- 
stead, I  'd  sooner  go  out  visiting  in  dear  old  England, ' ' 
thought  the  apprentice,  as  Oom  Pa  suddenly  prostrated 
himself  on  the  prayer-mat  and,  turning  over  on  his 
back,  blew  his  stout,  wrinkled  stomach  out  with  enor- 
mous breaths  in  some  religious  rite.  Hillary  made  a 
solemn  face  and,  responding  to  Ingrova 's  appeal, 
placed  his  brow  against  a  dead  man 's  beard  that  hung 
by  the  window  hole.  It  was  with  a  feeling  of  consid- 
erable relief  that  he  so  graciously  bowed  when  two 
pretty  native  girls  suddenly  rushed  into  the  room  and 
stared  at  him  with  wonder-struck  eyes.  His  white  face 
fascinated  them.  They  were  attractive-looking  maids, 
their  massive  crowns  of  hair  tastefully  ornamented 
with  frangipanni  and  scarlet  hibiscus  blossoms. 
Threaded  shells  dangled  from  their  arms.  One  had 
large  earrings  hanging  from  her  artificially  distended 
lobes.  They  were  two  of  Ingrova 's  granddaughters. 

10 


146          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

They  at  once  proceeded  to  flirt  with  the  apprentice, 
giving  captivating  glances  from  their  fine  dark  eyes. 
And  when  he  accepted  a  flower  from  pretty  Noma,  the 
tallest  girl,  he  swiftly  accepted  a  like  offering  from 
her  companion,  who  had  shot  a  jealous  glance  at  her 
sister  from  her  warm  dark  eyes.  In  the  meantime, 
Oom  Pa  and  Ingrova  had  met  under  the  palms  just 
outside  the  palavana. 

Ingrova 's  eyes  flashed  with  fire  as  old  Oom  Pa  spoke 
close  to  his  ear,  for  they  liked  not  a  white  man  to  call 
in  their  village  without  asking.  Though  Ingrova  was 
a  brave  chief,  he  too  was  a  religious  bigot,  and  his 
heart  swelled  with  much  devotion  as  he  thought  of 
what  his  gods  would  think  to  see  the  apprentice's  skull 
hanging  amongst  his  most  sacred  religious  trophies. 
He  felt  that  a  skull  adorned  with  dark  bronze  curls 
would  be  a  prize  worth  securing.  Oom  Pa  placed  his 
dusky  hand  to  his  mouth,  coughed  and  looked  around  to 
see  that  none  heard ;  then  he  said :  "  I  say,  0  mighty 
Ingrova,  this  white  papalagi  may  seek  our  hidden  idols 
and  be  after  no  maid  at  all.  What  think  you  ? ' ' 

And  Ingrova  replied : ' '  0  mighty  Oom  Pa,  favoured 
of  the  gods,  did  I  not  hear  you  say  that  you  had  seen 
such  a  one  as  this  white  maid  ? ' ' 

Oom  Pa  puckered  up  his  wrinkled  eyebrows  and 
swiftly  told  Ingrova  how  a  white  girl  had  danced  un- 
bidden on  his  great  tambu  pae  pae  and  then  run  away 
into  the  forest.  On  hearing  this  much  Ingrova  looked 
towards  the  palavan  to  see  that  the  white  man  was  not 
within  earshot,  and  then,  swelling  his  majestic,  tat- 
tooed chest  and  shoulders,  said  scornfully : ' '  It  seemeth 
a  grievous  thing  for  a  white  maid  to  be  missing,  yet,  I 
say,  do  not  these  cursed  papalagi  come  into  our  bays 
on  their  ships  and  steal  those  we  love,  our  wives, 


HEATHEN  LAND  147 

ours  sons  and  daughters,  taking  them,  to  slavery,  0 
Oom  Pa?" 

"  'Tis  as  thou  sayest,"  responded  the  priest.  For  a 
moment  he  reflected,  then  he  looked  up  into  Ingrova  's 
eyes  with  deep  meaning  and  said :  ' '  Methinks  'tis  true 
that  he  seeks  a  white  maid,  for  he  who  hath  a  leg  of 
wood  did  pass  this  way,  calling  in  strange  tones  to  all 
whom  he  met ;  and  mark  you,  O  Ingrova,  this  papalagi 
who  is  there  in  your  palavana  hath  one  eye  that  is  the 
colour  of  the  day  and  one  the  hue  of  the  night. ' ' 

Ingrova  at  this  wisely  nodded,  as  though  to  say 
that  he  too  had  noticed  this  strange  thing.  Then  Oom 
Pa  continued:  "To  have  such  eyes  must  mean  that 
he  is  favoured  by  the  gods  of  his  own  race,  and  so 
'twere  well  that  he  should  receive  our  friendship.  And 
maybe,  after  all,  'tis  the  white  man's  god  who  tattoos 
the  skies ! ' ' 

Ingrova  sighed  deeply  as  he  thought  of  the  exquisite 
skull  that  might  have  adorned  the  walls  of  his  palavana. 
Then  he  said :  ' '  'Tis  well,  Oom  Pa,  for  the  youth  is  to 
my  liking."  And  as  they  both  stooped  and  re-entered 
the  palavana  doorway  the  young  apprentice  little 
dreamed  how  inscrutable  Fate  had  given  him  one  eye 
blue  and  the  other  brown  so  that  he  might  not  be 
killed  that  day  by  a  Solomon  Island  chief.  Fondest 
affection  seemed  to  beam  forth  from  Ingrova 's  eyes  as 
he  looked  at  the  apprentice.  "Nice  old  heathen," 
thought  Hillary,  as  the  big  warrior  sighed  in  deep 
thought  and  then  placed  his  hands  with  regret  among 
the  rare  bronze  curls  of  the  apprentice's  skull  that 
might  have  been  his.  But  to  give  them  their  due,  both 
Oom  Pa  and  Ingrova  were  relieved  that  things  were 
running  smoothly.  Together  they  took  Hillary  out- 
side that  he  might  inspect  the  wonders  of  the  village. 


148         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

As  he  crossed  the  tiny  raras  (village  greens)  the  dusky 
maids  placed  their  hands  where  their  hearts  beat  and 
sighed  over  the  beauty  of  his  eyes  and  the  wondrous 
whiteness  of  his  face. 

"Damn  it  all!  I  could  take  an  interest  in  all  this 
if  I  only  knew  where  Gabrielle  was, ' '  thought  Hillary, 
as  he  looked  on  the  strange  scene  of  native  life  around 
him.  Notwithstanding  his  sorrows,  he  could  not  help 
thinking  how  akin  primitive  life  was  to  civilised  life. 
' '  One  blows  his  nose  on  a  palm  leaf  and  the  other  on  a 
silk  handkerchief,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  ''Bless 
me,  though  it  is  a  heathen  village  in  the  Solomon  Isles, 
its  dusky,  tattooed  inhabitants  seem  imbued  with  the 
same  ideas  and  aspirations  as  my  own  people. ' ' 

It  was  true  enough :  some  of  the  tiny  streets  under 
the  trees  were  clean  and  had  large,  well-built  huts  that 
were  covered  artistically  with  flowers  of  tropical  vines. 
Other  huts  were  small  and  very  slovenly.  Some  of 
the  maids  had  flowers  in  their  hair  and  shining  traduca 
shells  hanging  on  their  arms.  Others  wore  tappa 
gowns,  a  few  some  remnant  of  European  clothing, 
such  as  cast-off  skirts,  blouses,  bodices  and  stockings. 
One  or  two  wore  only  those  undergarments  that  are 
frilled  at  the  knees  and  succeeded  in  showing  off  their 
terra-cotta  limbs  in  a  most  conspicuous  fashion.  Some 
had  made  real  doors  to  their  palavanas,  whilst  others 
still  had  doors  that  were  made  of  old  sacking.  One 
played  a  cheap  German  fiddle  while  the  kiddies  on 
the  rara  danced  with  glee.  In  front  of  the  native 
temple  stood  a  monstrous  idol,  its  big  glass  eyes  appar- 
ently agog  with  laughter.  And  on  a  stump,  facing  it, 
stood  the  embryo  parliamentary  genius,  Hank-koo, 
waving  his  skinny  arms,  beseeching  the  high  chiefs 
to  pass  a  law  that  would  compell  all  the  other  chiefs 


HEATHEN  LAND  149 

to  make  their  hut  doors  so  that  they  opened  inwards. 
"Why  not  have  doors  that  open  inwards  when  'tis 
as  well  as  opening  towards?"  he  yelled,  as  he  wiped 
his  brow  with  a  palm  leaf.  It  was  then  that  another 
fierce-looking  being  jumped  on  to  a  stump.  He  too 
swore  by  Quat  (first  god  of  heathen  land)  that  for  a 
door  to  open  outwards  was  indeed  beautiful.  "Can 
not  a  dying  man 's  soul  take  flight  with  ease  to  shadow- 
land  instead  of  being  compelled  to  pull  the  door  back 
ere  departing  hence  ? ' '  And  so  the  chiefs  were  always 
busy  remaking  doors  that  opened  inwards  or  outwards, 
as  they  continually  changed  their  minds  over  the  vir- 
tues of  such  great  things. 

"Comer,  papalagi!"  said  Ingrova,  as  he  beckoned 
Hillary  to  return  towards  his  palatial  palavana.  "All 
is  wonderful  that  I  have  seen,  0  great  Ingrova,"  said 
Hillary,  as  he  stood  once  more  outside  the  chief's 
homestead. 

And  then,  as  the  chief  leaned  on  his  war-club,  swell- 
ing his  massive  chest  and  bowing  graciously,  Hillary 
intimated  that  he  must  depart  at  once. 

Indeed  the  apprentice  was  getting  impatient.  "It's 
no  good  hanging  about  here;  this  won't  find  Gabri- 
elle,"  he  thought,  as  he  cursed  the  old  skulls  and  the 
atmosphere  of  gloom  that  Ingrova 's  gruesome  exhibi- 
tion had  cast  over  him.  "Why  should  I  be  made 
melancholy  through  Ingrova 's  dead  relatives?  I  don't 
bring  out  the  bones  of  my  dead  aunts  and  old  uncles  to 
make  men  miserable. ' '  Such  was  his  inward  comment 
as  he  left  the  chief  and  hurried  away.  Thoughts  of 
Gabrielle  's  strange  disappearance  returned  to  him  with 
redoubled  force.  He  recalled  how  she  had  touched  his 
hand  for  the  first  time.  And  as  Hillary  passed  along 
by  the  forest  banyans  and  saw  the  deep  indigo  of  the 


150         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

far  distant  ocean,  he  stared  on  the  rose-pearl  flush  of 
the  sea  horizon.  "What  a  fool  I  was!  I  could  have 
easily  persuaded  her  to  bolt  that  night  on  the  derelict, ' ' 
he  thought,  as  he  once  more  started  on  his  way  back 
to  Everard  's. 

In  due  course  he  arrived  back  at  Everard 's  bunga- 
low. The  old  man  was  terribly  upset  when  Hillary 
told  him  that  he  had  heard  nothing  about  his  daugh- 
ter's wherabouts.  He  trembled  violently  as  he  looked 
up  at  Hillary  and  said:  "I've  been  up  to  Parsons 's 
shanty :  no  one  has  seen  Gabby,  or  heard  of  her.  What 
can  it  all  mean?" 

Hillary  made  no  reply.  He  did  his  best  to  cheer  the 
old  sailorman  up.  His  unbounded  faith  in  Gabrielle 
had  returned.  He  recalled  her  innocent  manner  when 
she  had  offered  him  the  little  flower  out  of  her  hair 
when  he  had  first  met  her  on  the  lagoon.  "No  girl 
who  gave  a  flower  like  that  could  do  wrong,"  he 
thought.  Not  only  would  he  not  entertain  the  idea  that 
a  dark  Papuan  man  could  have  influence  over  Gabri- 
elle, but  he  also  persuaded  the  father  to  make  no  in- 
quiries about  the  Rajah. 

' '  What  proof  have  you  got  that  the  Rajah  is  the  kind 
of  man  who  would,  take  advantage  of  any  woman?" 
he  inquired  of  Everard.  Possibly  he  was  influenced 
to  make  these  remarks  by  a  kind  of  Dutch  courage. 
He  imagined  that  there  was  far  less  chance  of  Ever- 
ard's  suspicions  being  true  if  he  himself  blinded  his 
own  eyes  to  the  possibilities  of  what  a  dark  man  might 
persuade  a  white  girl  to  do.  Over  and  over  again  he 
had  recalled  to  memory  Gabrielle 's  eyes  as  she  had 
gazed  into  his  own  on  the  derelict  ship.  "No !  Impos- 
sible!" thought  he.  "I've  got  boundless  faith  in 
Gabrielle;  I  feel  certain  she's  only  gone  up  to  K . 


HEATHEN  LAND  151 

She 's  probably  stopping  with  the  German  missionary 's 
wife  and  will  be  back  to-morrow. ' ' 

"Why  the  blazing  h didn't  you  go  there  to 

K and  see  ? "  said  the  old  sailor  in  a  petulant  voice, 

as  he  suddenly  looked  apologetically  at  the  apprentice. 
He  had  gripped  Hillary's  hand  gratefully  in  the 
thought  that  a  strange  youth  should  have  such  un- 
bounded faith  in  his  daughter. 

"I've  only  just  thought  of  Gabrielle's  friendship 
with  the  missionary's  wife  at  K ,"  said  Hillary. 

Then  Everard  suddenly  remembered  that  he  had 
already  sent  a  native  servant  up  to  K to  inquire. 

All  that  night  the  old  ex-sailor  sat  huddled  in  his 
arm-chair,  crying  softly  to  himself.  He  swore  that 
he  'd  never  drink  again  or  hurt  a  hair  of  the  girl 's  head 
if  she  returned  safely  home. 

Hillary  slept  little.  Once  he  walked  into  Gabrielle  's 
bedroom,  gazed  on  her  tiny  trestle  bed  and  thought 
of  all  she  had  said  to  him.  Then  he  was  obliged  to  go 
out  of  doors  and  walk  up  and  down  under  the  palms 
in  an  attempt  to  stifle  his  grief.  In  the  morning  he 
helped  Everard  to  get  the  breakfast.  The  old  man 
spoke  kindly  to  him  and  repeatedly  muttered  to  himself 
about  his  foolishness  in  thinking  the  youth  was  such  a 
villain  because  he  happened  to  be  stranded  in  Bougain- 
ville and  hadn't  a  cent  to  bless  himself  with. 

"What  did  old  Ingrova  say?"  suddenly  asked  the 
old  man,  as  he  swallowed  some  hot  tea. 

"Oh,  he  had  never  even  heard  of  Gabrielle." 

"Never  heard  of  her!  The  old  liar!"  almost  yelled 
the  old  man. 

Hillary  turned  beetroot-red.  He  swallowed  some 
hot  tea  and  nearly  fell  on  the  floor.  ' '  You  don 't  mean 
to  say  Ingrova 's  fooling  us?" 


152          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

"Don't  worry,  boy,  Ingrova's  all  right.  I  know 
'im!"  said  Everard. 

' '  Thank  God ! ' '  muttered  Hillary.  For  he  had  sud- 
denly called  up  terrible  visions  of  ferocious  head- 
hunters  dancing  round  Gabrielle's  dying  form. 

Anyway,  his  fears  were  quite  dispelled  by  Everard 's 
manner  and  all  that  he  proceeded  to  tell  him.  As  the 
ex-sailor  and  the  apprentice  talked  and  then  lapsed 
into  silence  over  their  own  thoughts,  the  visitors  began 
to  arrive.  It  appeared  that  the  grief -stricken  father 
had  been  about  telling  all  his  friends  that  Gabrielle 
was  missing  from  home.  The  first  one  to  arrive  at  the 
bungalow  after  breakfast  was  Mango  Pango.  When 
Hillary  opened  the  bungalow  door  she  pretended  to 
faint.  Then  she  lifted  her  hands  above  her  head  and 
went  on  in  a  most  dramatic  fashion  as  Hillary  ex- 
plained to  her  that  Gabrielle  was  still  missing. 

"Whater  you  do  'ere?"  said  the  pretty  Polynesian 
girl,  as  she  looked  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  as 
only  a  Polynesian  maid  can  look  without  squinting. 
"I  never  knew  that  you  knew  Misser  Gaberlielle, "  she 
added,  as  Hillary  smiled.  Then  she  went  on  in  a  ter- 
rible style,  for  she  had  known  Gabrielle  since  she  was 
a  child.  "0  Master  Hill-e-aire,  she  kill!  Some  one 
fiercer  head-hunter  gotter  her  and  cutter  her  head 
off!"  she  wailed,  as  she  rolled  her  pretty  eyes  and 
then  looked  at  Hillary  in  a  swift  flash  that  said  "No 
gooder  you  loving  girler  without  head — eh?"  Giving 
this  parting  shot,  Mango  Pango  ran  off  home  to  follow 
her  domestic  duties.  And  then  a  batch  of  native 
women  and  two  white  men  arrived  outside  the  bunga- 
low to  inquire  if  Gabrielle  had  returned.  After  a 
deal  of  jabbering  and  unheard-of  ideas  a8  to  the  cause 
of  the  girl 's  absence,  they  put  the  coins  in  their  pocket1? 


HEATHEN  LAND  153 

and  went  off  mumbling.  And  still  the  old  man  gabbled 
on,  saying:  "How  kind  people  are  when  folk  are  in 
trouble." 

Hillary  at  last  put  on  his  hat  and  went  off  to  make 
further  inquiries.  As  he  stood  shaving  himself  before 
the  mirror  in  the  bungalow  parlour,  he  thought  of  all 
that  Gabrielle  had  told  him  about  the  haunting 
shadow-woman.  He  was  half-inclined  to  tell  the  father 
of  the  girl's  strange  talk  on,  the  derelict  ship  out  in 
the  bay.  Then  he  decided  not  to  do  so,  thinking  that 
the  old  sailor  had  quite  enough  trouble  on  his  shoulders. 
Somehow  the  thought  of  all  that  Gabrielle  had  told 
him  about  that  shadow- woman  eased  Hillary's  mind. 
It  gave  him  greater  faith  in  the  girl.  He  remembered 
the  l»ok  in  her  eyes  when  she  had  sung  the  weird  songs 
to  him  by  the  lagoon,  and  also  in  the  forest  once  when 
they  were  parting.  "Perhaps  she's  a  bit  eccentric, 
and  that  accounts  for  her  strange  absence, ' '  he  thought. 
And  the  thought  eased  his  mind  and  was  more  pleasant 
than  the  thoughts  that  had  begun  to  haunt  him.  He 
recalled  Rajah  Koo  Macka's  handsome  face.  He  also 
recalled  how  he  had  read  that  dark  men  had  strange 
and  terrible  influence  over  romantic  girls.  He  knew 
very  well  that  Gabrielle  was  terribly  impressionable. 
Hillary  gave  himself  a  gash  with  his  razor  as  he  thought 
of  this,  and  his  hands  began  to  tremble.  Then  he 
hastily  dressed  himself  and  told  Everard  that  he  was 
off  to  make  inquiries  about  Macka.  "We  don't  know 
who  he  is ;  he  might  be  anyone,  and  villainous  enough 
to  lure  your  daughter  deliberately  away,  after  all," 
said  the  apprentice,  as  he  lit  his  pipe,  said  good-bye  to 
the  old  man  and  went  off  to  search  and  make  inquiries. 

It  was  nearly  dusk  when  Hillary  returned  from  the 
villages  and  going  down  to  the  beach  by  the  grog  bar 


154          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

came  across  a  Papuan  sailor  who,  he  had  been  told, 
was  an  old  deck-hand  off  one  of  the  Rajah's  ships. 

The  artful  Papuan  at  first  swore  that  he  did  not 
know  Macka,  shook  his  head  and  said : ' '  Me  no  savee ! ' ' 

Then  Hillary  took  a  handful  of  silver  from  his  pocket 
and  shook  it  before  the  Papuan 's  eyes  and  hinted  that 
if  he  could  tell  him  of  anyone  who  did  know  about 
Macka 's  social  position  he  would  get  well  rewarded. 
In  a  moment  the  native's  manner  changed.  He  took 
Hillary  under  the  palms  and  told  him  a  tale  that  fairly 
made  the  young  apprentice  gasp.  And  it  was  a  story 
that  would  make  anyone  gasp. 

It  was  from  this  native 's  lips  that  Hillary  heard  for 
the  first  time  that  Macka  was  an  ex-missionary  from 
Honolulu,  and  that  he  was  a  native  from  one  of  the 
coastal  tribal  villages  of  New  Guinea,  a  tribal  race  who 
were  the  most  ferocious  and  god-forsaken  heathens  in 
the  Pacific  world.  The  half-caste  native  sailor  turned 
out  to  be  a  rather  intelligent  man.  Indeed  it  appeared 
that  he  too  was  a  converted  heathen  and  had  first  got 
acquainted  with  Macka  while  attending  mission-rooms 
in  New  Britain. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  the  Rajah  Koo  Macka 
is  a  member  of  a  religious  society?"  gasped  Hillary, 
as  the  native  took  a  nip  of  his  tobacco  plug  and  then 
grinned  from  ear  to  ear. 

"It  am  so,  boss!"  said  the  man.  Then  the  native 
continued:  "  'E  am  Rajah  Makee  and  belonger  mis- 
selinaries  everywheres.  'E  kidnapper  too,  and  often 
taker  Papuan  girls,  boys,  men  and  women  by  nighter 
when  no  one  looker ! ' ' 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  the  apprentice  with 
astonishment,  only  vaguely  realising  what  "kidnap- 
per" meant.  Then  the  native  calmly  proceeded  to  en- 


HEATHEN;:LAND  155 

lighten  him,  and  in  a  few  moments  Hillary  had  heard 
enough  to  convince  him  that  the  noble  Rajah  would 
not  only  be  likely  to  abduct  Gabrielle  from  her  home, 
but  old  Everard  and  himself  too  if  he  thought  they'd 
fetch  a  few  dollars  in  the  slave  markets  of  the  Bismarck 
Archipelago  or  elsewhere. 

So  did  Hillary  discover  that  Rajah  Macka  was  an 
inveterate  cannibal,  living  on  the  flesh  and  weakness 
of  people  of  his  own  race.  For  it  appeared  that  he 
had  sailed  the  Pacific  for  years,  creeping  into  the  bays 
of  remote  isles  and  kidnapping  girls,  boys,  men  and 
women  till  his  schooner's  hold  was  crammed  up  to  the 
hatchways  with  a  terrified  human  merchandise.  He 
usually  sold  the  girls  to  chiefs  in  the  Bismarck  Archi- 
pelago and  New  Guinea ;  the  boys  and  men  he  disposed 
of  in  New  Guinea  for  plantation  work  or  to  be  fattened 
up  for  sacrificial  festivals,  the  piece  de  resistance  of 
some  mighty  chief 's  cannibalistic  orgy.  Macka  was  not 
the  only  one  who  dealt  in  the  terrible  blackbirding 
trade ;  Germans,  Dutchmen  and  even  English  skippers 
made  it  their  prime  stock-in-trade. 

Hillary  could  hardly  believe  his  ears  as  he  listened 
to  the  character  of  the  man  who  had  been  Everard 's 
welcome  guest.  He  took  the  native  sailor  into  Parsons 's 
grog  bar,  primed  him  well  with  drink  and  finally  got 
all  the  information  necessary  to  follow  on  the  Rajah's 
track.  He  discovered  that  he  was  a  native  of  New 
Guinea,  that  he  possessed  a  tambu,  temple  there  and 
was  known  as  the  "great  Rajah"  for  hundreds  of 
miles  in  Dutch  New  Guinea  because  he  had  been  well 
educated  by  his  heathen  parents,  who  had  sent  him  to 
Honolulu  to  be  initiated  into  the  virtues  of  Christianity. 

Though  the  sun  was  blazing  down  with  terrific  vigour 
from  the  cloudless  sky,  Hillary  half  ran  as  he  stumbled 


156          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

across  the  tangled  jungle  growth  on  his  way  back  to 
tell  Everard  all  that  he  had  heard  about  the  Rajah. 
The  native  girls  ran  out  of  the  little  doors  of  the  huts 
and  begged  him  to  give  them  one  brass  button  from 
his  apprenticeship  suit.  Crowds  of  native  children, 
quite  nude  but  for  the  hibiscus  blossoms  in  their  mop- 
heads  and  a  wisp  of  a  loin-cloth,  rushed  by  the  palms 
with  loaded  calabashes,  crammed  with  fish  caught  in 
the  shore  lagoons.  They  were  flying  onward  to  the 
market  village,  the  Billingsgate  of  the  Solomon  Isles; 
a  place  where  shaggy-headed,  sun-browned  women  ex- 
changed shells  for  the  fresh,  shining  fish.  But  Hillary 
had  no  eye  for  the  scenes  around  him.  He  steamed 
like  a  wet  shirt  stuck  out  in  the  tropic  sunlight  as  he 
hurried  on;  and  the  constellations  of  jungle  mosqui- 
toes and  fat  yellow  sand-flies  made  their  presence  felt, 
driving  their  proboscis  spears  deep  into  his  flesh,  buzz- 
ing their  musical  appreciation  to  find  he  ate  so  well. 
The  apprentice's  heart  was  beating  like  a  drum;  al- 
ready the  tale  that  he  had  heard  had  upset  his  ideas 
over  the  cause  of  Gabrielle's  absence.  "Did  she  go 
off  voluntarily  with  the  Rajah,  or  had  he  kidnapped 
her?"  That  thought  haunted  him,  tortured  him.  He 
stared  towards  the  summits  of  the  distant  smoking 
volcanic  ranges  to  the  north-west  and  thought  how  they 
resembled  his  own  heart,  that  was  near  to  bursting 
with  emotion,  and  how  he  too  would  like  suddenly 
to  shout  his  passionate  desires  to  the  sky.  He  sighed 
as  he  cut  across  the  silver  sands  by  the  beach.  He  was 
going  the  long  way  round,  for  he  dare  not  pass  by 
the  lagoon  where  Gabrielle  had  once  sung  to  him. 

He  was  nearly  dead  with  fatigue  when  he  arrived 
at  the  bungalow.  ' '  Found  'er,  boy  ? ' '  came  the  dismal 
query  that  always  smote  his  ears  when  he  returned  to 


HEATHEN  LAND  157 

Gabrielle's  home.  Hillary  simply  shook  his  head  and 
stared  into  the  glassy  eyes  of  the  old  man.  Then  he 
sat  down  and  told  the  ex-sailor  every  word  he  had 
heard  about  Macka's  schooner  and  his  reputation 
as  a  clever  kidnapper  of  native  girls  and  men  in  the 
Pacific  isles. 

Old  Everard  jumped  to  his  feet  and  hopped  about 
on  his  wooden  leg  like  a  raving  madman.  Hillary 
tried  to  hold  him  down. 

Crash!  The  old  man  had  stabbed  the  screen  four 
times  with  his  wooden  member.  Crash !  He  had  picked 
up  his  spare,  best  Sunday  wooden  leg  and  smashed  all 
the  crockery  off  the  shelf. 

"Don't  be  a  fool!  Everard!  Everard!  Don't  go 
mad ! ' '  yelled  Hillary  at  the  top  of  hiss  voice,  as  the 
demented  sailor  still  smashed  away. 

"I'll  save  your  daughter!  I  know  where  she  is!" 
yelled  the  apprentice,  as  he  endeavoured  to  stop  the 
ex-sailor's  demented  yells. 

The  furniture  of  the  bungalow  and  all  the  crockery 
were  smashed  before  the  mad  old  man  calmed  down. 
Then  he  took  a  pull  at  the  rum  bottle,  sat  down  on 
the  settee  and  recovering  his  breath  stood  up  again  and 
shouted:  "Where's  the  Bird  of  Paradise,  'is  ship? 
'Is  ship — has  it  sailed?"  yelled  the  old  man.  Then 
he  shouted :  "He's  got  her  on  the  Paradise!  He's  got 
'er,  my  Gabby!  I  see  it  all  now!  He's  an  old  black- 
birder.  Not  a  Rajah!  Not  a  godly  missionary!  By 
the  holy  Virgin,  forgive  me,  forgive  me  for  being  a 
damned  fool ! ' '  the  old  fellow  moaned,  as  he  recalled 
Rajah  Macka's  sombre  voice  and  his  exhortations  when 
he  had  hesitated  as  to  whether  he'd  give  up  drinking 
rum  or  no. 

Then  the  ex-sailor  looked  at  Hillary  and  yelled: 


158          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

"Go,  you  blamed  fool!     Go  and  see  if  the  Bird  of 
Paradise  has  sailed  from  the  harbour." 

In  a  moment  Hillary  rushed  away  over  the  hills. 
In  an  hour  he  returned  to  the  bungalow  and  told  Ever- 
ard  that  the  Bird  of  Paradise  had  not  been  seen  in  the 
bay  of  Bougainville  since  the  night  when  Gabrielle 
had  been  first  missing. 

' '  She 's  sailed  in  the  night !  'E  's  got  'er !  'E  's  got 
'er!  She's  gone!  She  wasn't  willing!  'E  stole  'er, 
just  like  'e  steals  native  girls!  Boy,  don't  worry. 
She's  a  good  girl,  she  is — one  of  the  best,"  said  the 
distracted  father,  his  voice  lowering  to  a  wailing  mono- 
tone as  he  steadily  beat  his  wooden  leg  on  the  floor  in 
despair  and  hope. 

"Of  course  she's  a  good  girl,"  said  Hillary.  His 
heart  nearly  stopped  beating  at  that,  a  thought  he 
would  not  allow  to  haunt  him. 

"There's  no  time  to  lose,  Mr.  Everard.  I'll  get  a 
berth  on  some  ship  that 's  bound  to  New  Guinea.  1 11 
find  a  ship.  I'll  stow  away,  I'll  do  anything  to  get 
there  and  find  his  tambu  house  and  rescue  Gabrielle 
from  his  grasp.  I'll  steal,  I'll  rob  anyone  if  it  is 
necessary."  And  as  the  apprentice  said  those  things 
his  eyes  flashed  fire,  his  face  flushed  with  all  the  hope 
and  the  emotion  that  was  in  him. 

"  I  've  got  money,  I  've  been  saving  for  years,  saving 
for  'er,  but  she  didn't  know!"  Everard  suddenly  ex- 
claimed. Then  he  looked  at  Hillary  and  continued: 
"Get  a  schooner;  hire  one;  I'll  pay!  I'll  spend  a 
thousand  to  get  Gabby  back  and  smash  Macka  up!" 
As  he  finished  he  brought  his  spare  wooden  leg  down 
crash  on  the  table.  Then  he  gripped  the  apprentice  by 
the  hand.  "Don't  leave  me  yet,  boy,  I'm  nervous. 
In  the  morning  you  can  go  out  into  the  bay  and  ses 


HEATHEN  LAND  159 

if  you  can  'ire  a  schooner.  It's  three  weeks'  sail  to 
the  New  Guinea  coast.  Find  out  exactly  where  his 
blasted  coastal  village  is.  Get  all  perticulars  about 
'im." 

"Do  you  really  think  he's  kidnapped  Gabrielle?  It 
seems  extraordinary  in  these  enlightened  times!" 
gasped  the  young  apprentice,  as  he  thought  of  Gabri- 
elle on  a  three  weeks'  voyage  with  Rajah  Macka,  the 
ex-missionary. 

"Don't  think!  She's  gone!  Where  is  she?" 
Then  the  old  man  roared  with  dreadful  vehemence: 
"Why,  damn  it  all,  I've  been  in  the  slave-trading  line ! 
I've  crept  into  the  native  villages  by  night  and  stolen 
the  girls  as  they  slept  beneath  the  palms!  Glory- 
formed  'em !  Smothered  'em !  Tied  'em  hup !  Shot 

the  b chiefs  as  they  rushed  from  their  dens  to  save 

their  darters  and  wives !  7  'ave !  /  'ave ! ' ' 

"  No ! "  That  monosyllable  expressed  all  the  horror 
of  which  Hillary  was  capable  over  Everard's  sudden 
confession  and  his  private  thoughts  as  to  Gabrielle 's 
fate  on  that  schooner  with  Macka. 

"It's  retribution — that's  what  it  is,"  wailed  the 
old  man. 

Hillary  took  his  hand  and  did  his  best  to  soothe  him. 
Then  he  lit  the  oil  lamp  and  sat  down  by  the  weeping 
ex-sailor. 

"My  Gabby 's  like  'er  mother,  beautiful  gal,  but  she's 
'aunted  in  'er  'eart  by  them  spirits  of  the  Papuan  race. 
'Er  mother  seed  a  spirit-woman  spring  out  from  under 
the  bed  one  night  afore  she  died ! ' ' 

"A  spirit- woman !"  gasped  Hillary.  Then  he  con- 
tinued: "Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  there  are  such 
things  as  spirit-women  running  about  Bougainville?" 

The  old  man  looked  vacantly  into  the  apprentice's 


160         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

eyes  for  a  second,  then  said  languidly,  as  though,  he 
was  too  grieved  too  talk:  "I  seed  a  shadder  meself 
ther  other  night,  'ere  in  this  very  room ! ' ' 

Hillary  looked  sideways  at  the  empty  rum  bottles  in 
the  corner  of  the  room,  then  back  again  at  the  old  man's 
bleary  eyes.  "  He 's  got  a  touch  of  the  D.T.  's, "  thought 
the  young  apprentice. 

Before  midnight  Everard  lay  in  a  drunken  sleep. 
Hillary  had  made  up  a  bed  by  the  couch,  but  he 
couldn't  sleep.  The  idea  of  the  girl  being  really  ab- 
ducted nearly  sent  him  mad.  Then  he  thought  of 
Gabrielle's  strange  talk  on  the  hulk  about  shadow- 
women  and  of  all  that  Everard  had  just  told  him  about 
his  wife 's  being  haunted  by  similar  shadows.  The  idea 
of  the  shadow-woman  haunted  his  mind  in  an  unac- 
countable way,  although  he  was  naturally  sceptical 
about  such  things  as  ghosts  and  enchantments. 

He  sat  by  the  small  open  window  of  the  bungalow 
and,  as  the  scents  of  the  orange-trees  drifted  in  on 
the  cool  night  zephyrs,  thought  over  all  he  had  read 
about  sorcerers,  of  the  haunting  shadow-figures  that 
played  such  a  prominent  part  in  the  love  affairs  of  the 
medieval  ages.  Then  he  looked  out  of  the  window  on 
to  the  moon-lit  landscape  and  saw  the  tall,  feathery 
palms ;  he  even  heard  the  rattling  of  the  derrick  of  some 
schooner  that  was  leaving  before  dawn.  He  thought  of 
Mango  Pango  singing  her  old  legendary  songs  in  a 
chanting  voice  as  she  peeled  spuds  and  chopped  up  the 
indigestible  bread-fruit  and  tough  yams  for  dinner, 
and  finally  summed  up  his  belief  in  spirits  in  the  one 
word  "Rot!" 

And  as  old  Everard  lay  just  by  him,  snoring  with  a 
mighty  bass  snore,  he  felt  half  sorry  that  he  couldn't 
bring  himself  to  believe  implicitly  that  a  shadow- 


HEATHEN  LAND  161 

woman  had  lured  the  girl  away  from  her  home  and  had 
slopped  her  from  keeping  the  tryst. 

"A  shadow  leaping  about — preposterous!  Sounds 
like  Doctor  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde.  Perhaps  she's  been 
reading  that  book,  and  told  her  father  about  it  while 
he  was  under  the  influence  of  drink, ' '  reflected  Hillary. 
He  even  brightened  up  as  he  persuaded  himself  that 
the  girl's  wild  sayings  and  her  evident  terror  had  all 
been  brought  about  through  reading  that  book.  ' '  She 's 
under  the  influence  of  Jekyll — that's  what's  the  mat- 
ter with  this  Everard  family.  Why,  bless  me,  it's  all 
natural  enough.  I  myself  am  out  here  in  the  Solomon 
Isles  through  reading  books.  I'd  never  have  met 
Gabrielle,  never  heard  of  strangling  shadows  and  that 
cursed  Rajah  Macka  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Captain 
Marryat,  Fenimore  Cooper  and  Stevenson. ' ' 

The  young  apprentice  began  to  brighten  up  con- 
siderably as  he  reflected  over  the  whole  business.  Ever- 
ard's  snores  sounded  quite  musical.  He  even  began 
to  think  that  if  a  terrible  tragedy  had  occurred  and 
Gabrielle  was  abducted  and  he  was  destined  to  go  off 
and  search  for  her  across  the  seas,  it  was  not  so  dread- 
ful as  nothing  happening  at  all. 

So  he  thanked  God  that  he  was  in  the  Solomon  Isles, 
living  amongst  tattooed  natives  and  strange  old  ex- 
sailormen  who  saw  shadows  and  evil  enchantresses 
dodging  about  their  bungalow  verandahs  or  racing 
under  the  moon-lit  palms. 

And  as  he  pondered  and  listened  to  the  faint,  far-off 
thunder  of  the  surf  on  the  coral  reefs  off  Felisi  beach 
he  heard  the  guttural  voices  of  the  German  sailors 
singing  a  chantey  as  their  grey  tramp-steamer  went 
out  on  the  tide,  bound  for  the  Bismarck  Archipelago. 
Old  Evarard  was  still  wheezing  heavily,  and  at  last  Hil- 
lary too  fell  asleep  to  the  sound  of  that  steady  snore. 
11 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  HOMERIC  SPIRIT 

WHEN  Hillary  awoke  in  the  morning  he  found 
Everard  in  a  most  sober  condition.  "Boy, 
thank  God  you're  here;  I'm  down  in  the 
mouth.  I've  been  thinking."  Then  the  old  man 
looked  wistfully  at  the  apprentice  and  said:  "You 
can't  go  off  to  New  Guinea  and  rescue  my  Gabrielle 
from  that  damned  villain  on  your  own,  can  you  ? ' ' 

"No,  I  don't  suppose  I  can,"  responded  the  appren- 
tice, as  he  sipped  his  tea  and  eagerly  drank  in  the  old 
ex-sailor's  words.  He  knew  that  Everard  was  a  man 
of  the  world  and  a  seafarer,  although  he  was  such  a 
fool  in  his  domestic  affairs.  He  also  knew  that  Everard 
knew  more  about  hiring  schooners  than  he  did.  Indeed 
Hillary  had  found  it  a  hard  enough  job  to  secure  the 
most  menial  berth  on  board  the  boats.  So  he  felt  that 
to  get  a  schooner  to  sail  specially  out  of  port  on  his 
behalf  was  a  dubious  prospect,  to  say  the  least. 

"Look  you  here,  boy,  directly  you're  feeling  fit  go 
up  to  Parsons 's  bar  and  see  if  you  can  get  in  with  some 
of  the  shellbacks.  They're  the  men  for  us.  Tell  them 
you  want  to  negotiate  with  a  skipper  who  would  go  to 
New  Guinea,  and  don't  forget  to  say  that  you've  got 
a  man  behind  you  who'll  pay  the  necessary  expenses 
for  the  whole  business." 

"Bless  you!  How  good  of  you!"  replied  Hillary, 
as  he  gripped  the  old  sailorman's  hand,  quite  forgetting 
that  he  was  Gabrielle 's  father  and  was  thinking  of  his 
daughter  and  not  of  Hillary 's  prospects. 

162 


THE  HOMERIC  SPIRIT  163 

"Don't  thank  me,  boy;  it's  my  daughter,  ain't  it?" 

"Yes ;  but  it's  good  of  you  to  give  me  the  chance  to 
hire  a  schooner  to  help  get  your  daughter  back  again, ' ' 
said  Hillary,  as  he  realised  the  exact  position  and  all 
that  the  girl 's  future  welfare  meant  to  him. 

The  old  man  took  his  hand  and  said:  "You're  a 
good  lad,  and  I  can  see  that  you  're  as  much  interested 
in  my  daughter  as  I  am." 

' '  I  am ! ' '  exclaimed  Hillary  fervently.  Then  at  the 
old  man's  request  he  put  his  cap  on  and  went  off  to 
seek  some  kindred  spirit,  someone  who  would  help  him 
to  negotiate  with  a  skipper  who  was  likely  to  let  his 
schooner  out  on  hire.  It  wanted  some  negotiating  too ! 
Skippers  don 't  let  their  ships  out  on  hire  every  day. 

"I'll  make  for  the  grog  shanty ;  that's  the  only  likely 
spot  where  something  that  no  one  expects  to  happen 
will  happen,"  was  his  comment  as  he  walked  off. 

Hillary  seldom  visited  the  grog  shanty  at  Rokeville. 
Once  or  twice,  as  the  reader  may  recall,  he  had  gone 
to  the  shanty  after  dusk  just  to  hear  the  sunburnt  men 
from  the  seas  sing  their  rollicking  sea-chanteys. 

The  German  consul,  Arm  Von  de  Sixt's  edict  that 
native  girls  were  not  to  go  near  the  grog  shanties  after 
dark  was  still  being  strictly  ignored.  Only  the  night 
before  old  Parsons  had  waved  his  signal  towel  and 
chuckled  with  delight  at  the  bar  door  as  the  brown 
maids  from  the  mountains  performed  Tapriata  and 
Siva  dances  under  the  moon-lit  palms  in  front  of  his 
secluded  shanty.  As  everyone  knows,  this  drew  cus- 
tom ;  and  the  sights  the  sailormen  saw — the  wild  dances 
and  rhythmical  swerves  of  the  girls — gripped  their 
imaginations.  Indeed  the  festivals  outside  Parsons 's 
grog  bar  were  so  well  known  that  as  far  away  as 
'Frisco,  Callao  and  London  sailors  could  be  heard  to 


164          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

remark  after  leaving  some  music  hall:  "Pretty  fair 
show,  but  nothing  like  the  dancing  brown  girls  outeide 
Parsons 's  grog  bar  in  Bougainville ! ' ' 

As  Hillary  came  within  three  hundreds  yards  of  the 
grog  shanty  he  could  hear  the  faint  halloas  and  chorus 
of  oaths  that  mingled  with  the  sounds  of  drunken 
revelry  in  the  shanty.  Someone  was  playing  an  accor- 
dion that  accompanied  some  hoarse  voice  that  roared 
forth:  "White  wings  they  never  grow  weary."  For 
a  moment  the  young  apprentice  lingered  beneath  the 
palms,  then  realising  that  he  had  the  whole  afternoon 
before  him,  he  turned  away  and  went  down  to  the 
beach.  After  walking  about  for  some  time  he  managed 
to  get  a  native  to  row  him  out  to  some  of  the  schooners 
that  were  lying  at  anchor  in  the  bay.  He  went  aboard 
two  of  them  and  asked  to  see  the  mate  or  skipper; 
but,  as  luck  would  have  it,  they  were  both  ashore. 

"Where's  she  bound  for?"  he  asked  of  a  sailor  who 
was  holystoning  the  schooner's  deck. 

"Barnd  fer  'Frisco,"  said  the  man,  as  he  stared  at 
Hillary,  and  then  asked  him  if  he  wanted  a  job. 

"Not  on  a  boat  that's  going  to  'Frisco,"  said  Hil- 
lary, as  he  looked  over  the  side  and  beckoned  the  native 
to  come  alongside  with  the  canoe. 

Then  he  went  over  to  the  tramp  steamer  that  lay 
near  the  promontory,  and  after  a  good  deal  of  trouble 
managed  to  see  the  skipper,  who,  when  he  found  that 
Hillary  wanted  a  job,  roared  out:  "If  yer  don't  git 
off  this  b ship  in  two  seconds  I  '11  pitch  yer  off ! " 

And  so  Hillary  bowed  his  thanks  and  gracefully 
withdrew  into  his  native  canoe.  He  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  go  back  and  visit  the  grog  shanty.  "Perhaps 
I'll  see  some  skipper  there,  or  at  least  someone  who 


THE  HOMERIC  SPIRIT  165 

knows  the  way  to  get  in  with  a  captain  who  might 
sail  for  a  price  to  New  Guinea,"  was  his  reflection. 

When  he  arrived  once  more  on  the  beach  off  Roke- 
ville  he  could  heard  the  sounds  of  revelry  in  Parsons 's 
grog  bar  going  strong.  It  was  getting  near  sunset,  the 
busy  drinking  time.  For  the  Solomon  Island  climate 
is  terribly  hot  and  muggy  at  times. 

' '  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  into  the  bar  and  see  men  that 
laugh;  it's  better  than  mooching  about  in  company 
with  my  own  reflections,"  thought  Hillary,  as  he 
walked  up  the  grove  of  palm-trees  that  led  to  the  beach 
hotel.  As  he  approached  the  entry  to  the  rough  wooden 
saloon  he  was  startled  by  hearing  a  mighty  voice — a 
voice  that  sounded  like  the  voice  of  some  Olympian  god. 
It  was  the  voice  of  some  man  who  was  singing,  some- 
one gifted  with  a  vibrant,  melodious  utterance.  It  was 
strangely  mellow,  for  distance  softened  the  gigantic 
hoarse-throated  rumbling  till  it  sounded  peculiarly 
attractive,  as  though  a  woman  sang  in  a  man 's  heart. 

As  Hillary  listened  he  felt  confused.  Where  had  he 
heard  that  voice  before?  Then  he  strode  beneath  the 
two  bread-fruit  trees  that  stood  just  in  front  of  the 
shanty  and,  with  strange  eagerness,  entered  the  little 
doorway,  anxious  to  see  the  one  who  sang  so  loud  and 
inspired  the  shellbacks  to  yell  so  vociferously. 

As  the  young  apprentice  came  into  the  presence  of 
that  motley  throng  of  drinking  seamen  he  stared  with 
astonishment  at  the  big  figure  of  the  man  who  had 
just  finished  singing.  Hillary  had  seen  him  before; 
there  he  stood,  the  Homeric  personality  who  had  so 
rudely  intruded  when  he  had  been  listening  to  Gabri- 
elle's  song  by  the  lagoon.  It  was  the  huge  sailonnan 
who  had  disturbed  him  by  inquiring  for  the  nearest 
Solomon  Island  gin  palace. 


166         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

Hillary  almost  forgot  his  troubles  as  he  stared  on 
the  scene  before  him.  The  big  man  was  waiting  for 
the  chorus  to  cease  before  he  proudly  took  up  the  solo 
with  his  vibrant  voice.  Heaven  knows  why  the  ap- 
prentice dubbed  him  "Ulysses"  in  his  mind,  for  by 
his  own  account  he  was  anything  but  an  example  of 
the  Homeric  hero — that  is,  if  his  own  accounts  of  his 
faithlessness  to  his  absent  spouse,  whoever  she  might 
be,  were  true.  There  he  stood,  one  muscular  arm  out- 
stretched, his  helmet  hat  tilted  offi  his  fine  brow,  re- 
vealing his  bronze  curls,  his  eyes  sentimentally  lifted 
to  the  low  roof  of  the  shanty.  He  looked  like  some 
forlorn,  derelict  knight  as,  with  one  hand  at  his  van- 
dyke  beard,  he  began  to  roar  forth  the  fourth  verse : 

"  For  I  went  down  south  for  to  see  my  Sal, 
Singing  Polly-wolly-doodle  all  the  day. 
For  I'm  off  to  Lousianna  for  to  see  my  Susiannah, 
Singing  Polly-wolly-doodle  all  the  way ! " 

And  all  the  while  he  made  gallant  signs  to  the  two 
pretty  Polynesian  girls  who  had  rushed  from  the  store 
hard  by  to  see  who  sang  so  loudly  and  well.  At  the 
close  of  each  verse  he  placed  his  hand  on  his  heart  and 
bowed  to  the  girls  in  such  a  way  that  their  awestruck 
eyes  fairly  shone  in  the  sudden  glory  of  it  all.  Heaven 
knows  what  land  and  among  what  people  he  had 
been  reared  in  his  youth,  but  it  was  certainly  a  bow 
that  would  not  have  shamed  an  actor  in  any  courtly 
love  scene.  The  traders  and  sunburnt  shellbacks — a 
mixture  of  various  nationalities,  yellowish,  whitish, 
greenish  and  olive-hued  men,  decorated  with  a  multi- 
tudinous variety  of  whiskers  and  beards — stamped 
their  sea-booted  feet  and  thumped  their  rum  mugs  till 
the  shanty  vibrated  to  their  hilarious  appreciation. 


THE  HOMERIC  SPIRIT  167 

Suddenly  Ulysses  caught  sight  of  Hillary.  For  a 
moment  he  stared  at  the  apprentice  in  surprise.  Hil- 
lary became  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes  as  the  shellbacks 
looked  over  their  shoulders  at  him.  ' '  You !  You  here ! ' ' 
he  yelled.  Then  he  strode  forward  and,  bending  him- 
self with  laughter,  struck  Hillary  on  the  back  with  his 
open  hand,  nearly  fracturing  his  collar  bone. 

"How's  the  gal!  By  the  heathen  gods  of  these 
sun-boiled  Solomon  Isles,  she  was  a  real  bewt ! ' '  Say- 
ing this,  he  gave  a  massive  wink,  pushed  his  antedi- 
luvian helmet  hat  on  one  side,  stood  upright  till  his 
head  bashed  against  the  grog  bar's  roof  and  shouted: 
"Give  the  boy  a  drink.  Hey  there,  you  son  of  a 
gorilla  potman,  bring  us  a  deep  sea  for  two ! ' ' 

In  a  moment  the  bar-keeper  disappeared  to  obey 
that  mighty  voice.  Bringing  the  drinks,  he  obsequi- 
ously placed  them  on  the  counter  and  asked  for  the 
wherewithal.  The  onlooking  shellbacks  rubbed  their 
eyes  and  chuckled  in  their  glee  as  Ulysses  yelled: 
"Money!  Damn  yer  cheek  to  think  I  pay  drink  by 
drink ! ' '  Saying  that,  he  brought  his  fist  down  with 
such  a  crash  on  the  bar  that  old  Parsons  without  more 
hesitation  ticked  off  the  drinks  on  his  big  account  slate 
that  hung  behind  the  bar  and  trembled  in  some  fear. 

Hillary  buried  his  nose  in  the  cool  liquor.  He  wanted 
a  drink  badly,  but  not  so  much  to  quench  his  thirst 
as  to  drown  his  thoughts. 

No  presence  in  the  world  could  be  more  welcome  to 
the  young  apprentice  than  that  of  the  big  man  standing 
amongst  the  motley  crew  of  shellbacks.  Those  men 
were  all  Hillary's  opposites,  so  far  as  temperament 
goes,  and  so  all  the  more  welcome  to  him  in  his  sorrow. 
Nothing  worried  them.  They  were  the  grand  phil- 
osophers of  Bougainville,  for  each  night  they  summed 


168          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

up  the  whole  mystery  of  life  and  creation  with  an 
infallible  certainty. 

The  supreme  personality  inside  that  grog  bar  was 
the  giant  stranger  who  had  disturbed  Gabrielle  and 
Hillary  in  the  forest  and  had  now  recognised  the  ap- 
prentice. Hillary's  new-found  friend,  for  such  he 
turned  out  to  be,  had  an  individuality  worth  a  thous- 
and ordinary  people.  The  very  expression  of  his  face 
was  infectious  as  his  eyes  roamed  over  the  bar  and 
fathomed  the  weakness  and  strength  of  the  faces  round 
the  room.  Yes,  Ulysses  was  a  judge ;  only  one  glance 
and  he  knew  which  man  was  likely  to  stand  a  drink 
with  the  least  argument.  He  had  only  been  a  visitor  to 
the  bar  for  a  few  days  when  Hillary  appeared  on  the 
scene,  and  yet  he  was  the  acknowledged  king  of  beach- 
comber-land. Parsons 's  bar  echoed  with  wild  songs, 
laughter  and  impromptu  oaths  of  glee  as  he  sang. 
Neither  Hillary  nor  the  shellbacks  had  ever  heard  or 
seen  anything  like  him  before.  And  the  tales  he  told ! 
He'd  been  everywhere!  He  swallowed  half-a-pint  of 
rum  at  one  gulp.  Then  he  took  a  large  parchment  chart 
from  his  capacious  inside  pocket,  unfolded  it  on  the  bar 
and  made  the  shellbacks  and  traders  turn  green  with 
envy  as  he  ran  his  huge  forefinger  along  the  curves  and 
lines  of  the  latitudes  and  longitudes  of  endless  seas. 
He  told  of  remote  isles  where  pearls  lay  hidden  that  he 
alone  knew.  Millions  of  them!  Then  he  looked  un- 
blushingly  into  the  faces  of  those  grizzly,  sunburnt 
men  as  they  stuck  their  goatee  whiskers  out  in  aston- 
ishment and,  bending  over  his  map  once  more,  ran  his 
huge  forefinger  up  to  the  north-west,  right  up  to 
Sumatra  in  the  Malay  Archipelago,  and  switched  off 
to  the  Loo-choo  Isles  in  the  Yellow  Sea.  "Treasure 
hidden  there,"  said  he,  giving  a  potent  sidelong  wink 


THE  HOMERIC  SPIRIT  169 

before  he  ran  his  finger,  bang!  right  across  the  wide 
Pacific  Ocean  down  to  the  Paumotu  Group  and  onward 
south-west  to  the  tropic  of  Capricorn.  His  descriptive 
ability  was  marvellous:  with  upraised  forefinger  and 
laughing  eyes  he  described  the  weird  inhabitants  of 
remote  uncharted  isles  and  the  beauty  of  their  native 
women.  Even  the  astounded  Polynesian  maids  sighed 
when  his  countenance  flushed  in  some  rapturous 
thought  as  he  re-described  the  wondrous  beauty  of 
maids  who  dwelt  on  those  remote  isles  of  the  wine-dark 
seas.  He  hinted  of  tattooed  queens  who  had  favoured 
his  presence!  He  had  ascended  thrones!  Discarded 
kings  had  sat,  and  still  sat,  forlorn  in  their  isolation, 
cursing  their  heathen  queens  and  the  melancholy  hour 
when  Ulysses  entered  their  barbarian  halls.  Not  one 
Penelope  but  a  score  awaited  his  return. 

"Well  now!  Who'd  'a'  thought  it!"  was  the  soli- 
tary comment  of  the  most  garrulous  shellback  to  be 
found  within  a  hundred  miles  south  of  the  line.  That 
remark  was  followed  by  a  critical  glance  at  Ulysses' 
massive  frame,  his  ragged,  handsome  face,  the  virile 
moustache  and  fierce-looking  vandyke  beard,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  omniscient-looking  eyes  that  flatly  chal- 
lenged anyone  who  would  dare  doubt  their  owner's 
veracity.  Hillary  took  to  him  like  a  shot.  He  made  up 
his  mind  to  keep  him  in  sight  or  die  in  the  attempt. 
The  young  apprentice  felt  that  it  had  been  almost 
worth  his  while  to  have  travelled  the  world  if  only  to 
run  across  that  magnificent  vagabond.  ' '  He 's  the  man ! 
He'll  find  Macka,  polish  him  off  the  earth  and  save 
Gabrielle.  He'll  hire  a  schooner  if  a  schooner's  to  be 
hired  on  this  planet ! "  reflected  Hillary,  and  he  wasn't 
far  wrong  in  his  swift  summary  of  Ulysses'  character. 
Then  he  took  a  moderate  sip  of  his  rum,  for  he  had 


170         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

laid  a  half-crown  on  the  bar  and  called  for  drinks, 
and  Ulysses  with  inimitable  grace  had  gazed  admir- 
ingly into  the  apprentice's  eyes,  pocketed  the  change 
and  treated  him !  This  natural  courtesy  of  the  South 
Seas  amused  Hillary  immensely.  To  him  it  was  a  true 
act  of  brotherhood;  in  its  liberality  it  vividly  illus- 
trated the  divine  creed  of  ' '  One-man-as-good-as- 
another. ' ' 

As  the  night  wore  on  the  shellbacks  and  traders 
began  to  roll  off  from  the  precincts  of  the  bar,  some 
to  their  ships  in  the  bay  and  some  to  their  native 
wives.  As  the  last  stragglers  went  out  of  the  doorway 
and  the  oil  lamps  began  to  burn  low  Ulysses  lay  down 
on  the  long  settee.  He  had  taken  up  his  abode  in  the 
shanty — never  asked  the  bar-keeper's  permission,  not 
he.  He  had  simply  taken  possession  of  the  bar  by  day 
and  the  settee  by  night.  Hillary,  who  had  lurked  by 
his  side  through  the  whole  evening,  had  quite  thought 
to  follow  him  home  to  his  lodgings  or  back  to  his 
ship,  for  though  Ulysses  told  much  of  his  past  he  was 
extremely  reticent  about  his  present  affairs,  where 
he  had  come  from  or  where  he  was  bound  for.  Hillary 
was  disheartened  to  find  that  he  was  stopping  in  the 
shanty  for  the  night,  but  his  need  of  that  mighty 
personage  made  him  determine  not  to  be  outdone. 

A  few  old  sea-dogs  were  still  lurking  about  and 
arguing  over  their  quart  pots,  talking  softly  as  they 
saw  Ulysses  settle  himself  for  the  night.  Hillary  did 
not  heed  them,  they  were  mostly  muddled  and  not 
curious.  Going  straight  up  to  the  big  man,  he  said 
softly:  "I  say,  I'd  like  to  speak  to  you  outside  for  a 
moment,  if  you've  no  objection." 

It  wanted  a  bit  of  pluck  to  make  a  bold  bid  to  that 
huge  adventurer. 


THE  HOMERIC  SPIRIT  171 

Ulysses  had  nicely  settled  his  recumbent  form  and 
closed  his  eyes  when  Hillary  thus  addressed  him. 
For  a  moment  the  big  face  rested  on  the  settee  pillow, 
then  slowly  the  head  turned,  the  unflinching  eyes 
stared  hard  at  the  young  apprentice,  the  massive, 
curly  head  slowly  lifted.  Did  the  young  whipper- 
snapper  have  the  cursed  cheek  to  want  his  change 
back?  Such  was  the  apparent  thought  that  flashed 
through  Ulysses'  mind  as  his  eyes  fixed  themselves  on 
Hillary.  But  in  a  moment  he  saw  the  earnest  ex- 
pression in  the  young  apprentice's  face  and  with  mar- 
vellous instinct  gathered  that  Hillary's  request  was 
worth  granting.  "Any  money  in  it?"  he  whispered 
in  a  thunderous  undertone.  For  a  moment  Hillary 
looked  abashed  and  rubbed  his  smooth  chin  thought- 
fully. It  was  the  last  thing  on  earth  he  had  expected 
to  hear  from  that  hero  of  the  seas. 

"Maybe  there's  a  lot  of  money  in  it,"  he  quietly 
replied.  That  reply  acted  like  magic  on  Ulysses' 
weary  limbs.  In  less  than  two  minutes  they  had 
passed  outside  the  shanty. 

When  they  arrived  outside  the  wooden  South  Sea 
pub  the  large,  low  yellow  moon  lay  on  the  horizon, 
staring  across  the  wide  Pacific.  The  scene  could  not 
have  been  staged  with  better  effect.  The  background 
of  the  mountains  in  Bougainville,  the  tin  roofs  of 
the  township,  moonlight  falling  on  the  sheltering 
palms  and  over  the  small  doors  of  the  huts,  gave  an 
individual  touch  to  the  whole  scene.  The  landscape 
looked  like  some  mighty  oil-painting  showing  two 
men  standing  on  a  silent  shore  staring  out  to  sea 
at  the  full  moon.  Then  the  two  figures,  engaging  in 
deep  conversation,  once  more  began  to  walk  to  and  fro. 

As  Hillary  walked  up  and  down  with  Ulysses  he 


172          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

told  the  man  all  that  troubled  him,  and  begged  his 
assistance  in  rescuing  Gabrielle  from  the  hands  of  a 
kidnapper. 

"You  don't  mean  that  golden-haired  girl  that  I 
caught  yer  with?  The  girl  I  saw  swinging  on  the 
banyan-tree  when  I  first  had  the  enormous  pleasure 
of  spying  on  ye?"  said  Ulysses,  as  he  towered  over 
the  apprentice  till  Hillary's  five  feet  eleven  inches 
appeared  quite  diminutive. 

"Yes,  that  was  Gabrielle,  that's  whom  I'm  talking 
about  She's  missing!  Gone!  Stolen!  He's  got  her, 
a  blasted  heathen  missionary !  He  '11  take  her  away  to 
New  Guinea  and  put  her  in  his  tambu  harem  in  some 
devilish  coastal  town !  He  will  sacrifice  her  purity  to 
his  filthy  desires !  God  in  heaven ! ' ' 

For  a  moment  his  companion  stared  at  the  flushed 
face  of  the  youth,  who  had  waxed  so  grandiloquent 
as  emotion  got  the  better  of  him.  Then  he  said : 

"Are  ye  drunk,  boy?"  Then,  without  waiting  for 
an  answer,  he  smacked  the  apprentice  on  the  back  and 
looked  into  his  eyes.  Then  he  gave  a  loud  guffaw 
that  echoed  to  the  hills  and  made  Hillary  look  round 
in  apprehension.  Next  he  swelled  his  chest,  tugged 
his  mighty  moustachios  and  said:  "Don't  ye  worry, 
lad,  I  'm  yer  man ! ' ' 

Hillary  was  not  wrong  in  his  hasty  summing  up  of 
that  big  man's  character.  Ulysses  had  a  large  heart 
notwithstanding  his  own  strange  confessions  of  far-off 
isles,  discarded  queens  and  melancholy  kings. 

"Blow  me  soul,  by  the  heart  of  God,  you've  got  it 
bad;  it's  in  love  you  are,"  said  he,  as  he  laid  his  huge 
hand  across  his  waistcoat,  over  his  vagabond  heart. 
Then,  continuing  he  said:  "So  this  Rajah  Maeka's 
boss  of  a  plantation  and  owns  a  ship  ? ' ' 


THE  HOMERIC  SPIRIT  173 

"That's  so,"  ejaculated  the  apprentice. 

Ulysses  immediately  took  from  the  folds  of  his  red 
shirt  a  large  parchment-like  scroll,  presumably  his 
mysterious  chart,  and  then  opening  it  out  at  a  spare 
page  wrote  down:  "A  b heathen  Kanaka  mission- 
ary owns  a  ship,  got  plantations,  and  most  probably 
in  possession  of  money  too  through  being  a  black- 
birder,  and  it  is  now  herein  written  down,  stated  and 
agreed,  between  Samuel  Bilbao  and  myself,  that  all 
the  aforesaid  cash  and  goods  are  due  to  the  aforesaid 
Samuel  Bibao,  by  God ; ' '  And  as  the  giant  sailorman 
wrote  on,  he  accompanied  each  word  with  a  musical 
chuckle. 

Hillary  gazed  at  the  man  in  incredulous  wonder ;  but 
still,  odd  as  it  may  seem,  he  began  to  feel  a  vast  con- 
fidence in  Ulysses'  ability  for  doing  anything  that  he 
set  out  to  do.  "  Heavens,  who  ever  saw  such  a  human 
phenomenon  off  the  stage?"  was  his  reflection  as  he 
realised  that  the  original  being  before  him  was  cer- 
tainly a  master  of  his  own  actions.  The  apprentice 
instinctively  saw  that  his  new-found  friend  was  inval- 
uable as  a  leader  in  a  forlorn  hope,  whereas  a  practical 
man  who  carefully  weighed  all  possibilities  to  a  nicety 
would  be  a  "  dead  horse ' '  and  a  bugbear  to  boot. 

"What  kind  of  a  maid  is  this  glorious  girl  of 
yours  ? ' '  said  Samuel  Bilbao  after  a  pause. 

"Why,  she's  as  white  a  girl  as  ever  lived;  only  the 
vilely  suspicious  would  think  ill  of  her.  I've  never 
met  a  girl  like  her  before!" 

"Ho!  Ho!"  roared  the  sailor,  who  had  been 
mightily  in  love  on  more  than  one  occasion.  Then, 
looking  straight  into  the  apprentice's  face,  he  said  in  a 
hushed,  sympathetic  voice:  "That  all  ye  got  to  say 
for  the  poor  girl?"  Seeing  how  the  wind  blew,  he 


174         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

at  once  became  sympathetic.  He  too  had  loved  and 
sorrowed,  he  said ;  and  then  he  spoke  soothingly  and, 
patting  the  apprentice  on  the  shoulder,  said  with  tre- 
mendous solemnity:  "How  sad!  Tell  me  every- 
thing, lad." 

Hillary,  who  had  imbibed  rather  liberally,  became 
emotional,  and  after  going  into  many  details  about 
Gabrielle  and  her  disappearance  suddenly  blurted  out : 
"She's  a  strange  kind  of  girl  too;  she  says  she's 
haunted  by  a  shadow  thing,  a  woman,  I  think,  some 
sort  of  a  ghost. ' ' 

Just  for  a  moment  Bilboa  renewed  his  intense  scrut- 
iny of  the  apprentice's  face,  then  roared:  "By  God! 
Abducted  by  a  Rajah,  whipped  off  to  a  tambu  temple 
to  be  sacrificed  at  the  altar  of  one  by  name  Macka 
Koo  Rajah — and  she's  haunted!"  The  big  man 
roared  the  foregoing  so  loudly  that  Hillary  thought  he 
would  awaken  the  whole  township!  But  still  the 
sailorman  yelled  on:  "God  damn  it,  youngster,  I've 
cuddled  queens  and  princesses  on  a  hundred  heathen 
isles,  but  never  has  such  a  strange  story  come  out  of 
my  wooing."  Then  he  added  swiftly:  "Cheer  up! 
I've  had  numerous  abduction  jobs  both  for  and 
against :  kings  and  queens  have  paid  me  in  pearl  and 
gold  for  such  things,  and  never  yet  did  I  fail  in  find- 
ing a  pretty  maid's  hiding-place  or  the  weakness  in 
a  queen's  virtue!  I  tell  ye  this — your  Rajah  Macka 's 
done  for !  I  'm  his  man. ' '  Saying  this,  he  gave  Hillary 
a  quizzical  look  and  continued : ' '  You  're  sure  the  girl 's 
not  stealing  a  march  on  ye?  She  didn't  run  off  on 
the  abduction  night  in  front  of  the  Rajah,  eh  ? "  Before 
Hillary  could  give  his  emphatic  assurance  in  reply  to 
this  query  the  sailorman  gave  a  huge  grin  and  said : 
"What's  the  dear  old  pa  think  of  it  all?  Worried 


THE  HOMERIC  SPIRIT  175 

much?  Got  cash?"  Whereupon  Hillary  at  once  told 
Bilbao  how  old  Everard  had  promised  to  give  any- 
thing up  to  a  thousand  pounds  to  anyone  who  would 
go  to  New  Guinea  in  search  of  the  girl. 

The  effect  was  magical:  Bilbao's  face  flushed  with 
rapturous  thoughts;  he  blew  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke 
from  his  lips  and  chuckled:  "I'm  bound  for  New 
Guinea!  Bound  for  a  heathen,  a  Macka  Rajah! 
Good  old  Macka — he's  mine!  He's  destined  to  meet 
one  by  name  Samuel  Bilbao.  I  '11  find  him !  I  '11  claim 
the  girl  too ! "  he  added,  as  he  nudged  Hillary  in  the 
ribs  and  winked.  Following  this  sally,  he  gave  the 
apprentice  a  tremendous  thump  on  the  back  and  said : 
"Youngster,  don't  get  down  in  the  mug;  come  to  Par- 
sons's  parlour  in  the  morning  and  we'll  see  what's  best 
to  be  done  to  secure  the  girl. ' ' 

Then  he  took  the  apprentice  back  into  the  grog  bar 
and  called  for  drinks.  "Git  it  down,"  said  he,  as 
Hillary  hesitated  over  the  fiery  liquor.  And  there  for 
quite  one  hour  the  huge  man  told  of  his  mighty  deeds 
far  and  near,  and  multiplied  his  credentials,  so  that 
Hillary  might  not  go  off  seeking  someone  else  for  the 
position  which  he,  Ulysses,  knew  he  was  especially 
suited  for. 

Before  Hillary  departed  for  home  Bilbao  impressed 
upon  him  to  be  at  the  grog  bar  on  the  following 
morning. 

Hillary  could  never  remember1  how  he  got  back  to 
his  lodgings  that  night.  All  that  he  ever  did  know 
was  that  when  he  arrived  in  his  small  bedroom  he 
imagined  that  Koo  Macka  lay  helpless  on  the  floor 
before  his  window.  Mango  Pango,  and  two  natives 
who  slept  just  by,  and  the  landlady  rushed  in  in  their 
night  attire  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  found 


176          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

Hillary  singing,  "0!  0!  for  Rio  Grande!"  as  he 
swayed  a  big  war-club  and  smashed  an  imaginary 
Rajah  Macka's  head  into  pulp. 

In  the  morning  Hillary  made  a  thousand  apologies 
to  his  native  landlady  and  to  pretty  Mango  Pango. 
Mango  Pango  graciously,  accepted  each  apology,  and 
grinned  with  delight  to  think  that  at  last  the  young 
Englishman  had  taken  to  drink,  and  that  fun  was 
going  to  begin  as  the  craving  strengthened. 

As  soon  as  Mango  Pango  had  given  Hillary  his  clean 
shirt  and  breakfast  he  got  ready  and  then  once  more 
left  his  diggings,  bound  for  Parsons 's  grog  bar.  When 
he  arrived  the  shellbacks  were  very  numerous,  for  a 
schooner  had  just  put  into  Bougainville,  and  the  crews 
were  standing  treat. 

Samuel  Bilbao  met  the  apprentice  in  his  usual  vol- 
canic style. 

' '  Where 's  yer  fiddle,  youngster, ' '  said  he,  as  though 
Hillary  had  come  to  perform  violin  solos. 

''Damn  it!  Left  it  at  yer  lodgings?"  Then  he 
continued:  "Why,  bless  me,  you  ask  me  to  help  you 

find  a  Macka,  and  rescue  a  beautiful "  He  stopped 

short,  thinking  it  would  not  do  to  let  the  bystanders 
know  everything,  and  continued :  "  Go  and  f eteh  your 
fiddle,  boy." 

Hillary  felt  little  inclination  to  play  a  fiddle,  but 
there  was  something  about  the  personality  of  that 
man  that  told  him  that  if  he  asked  a  favour  he  ex- 
pected it  granted. 

He  soon  returned  with  his  violin,  and  it  was  a  sight 
worth  seeing  to  watch  Samuel  Bilbao's  face  as  Hillary 
obediently  performed  the  songs  that  he  asked  him  to 
play.  And  as  Hillary  played  that  strange  man  lifted 
snd  moved  his  hands  in  rhythmic  style,  half  closed  his 


THE  HOMERIC  SPIRIT  177 

big-lidded  eyes,  looking  most  sentimental,  as  he  drank 
in  the  melody  and  huge  sips  of  rum. 

' '  Play  that  again !  Bewtif  -ool !  You  're  a  genius, ' ' 
he  ejaculated,  as  the  shellbacks  who  stood  round  looked 
into  one  another 's  eyes  in  wonder  to  see  a  man  who  had 
confessed  to  such  a  past  almost  weep  over  an  English 
song. 

All  was  going  merrily  as  a  marriage  bell  in  heathen- 
land  when  one  by  name  Bill  Bark  appeared  on  the 
scene.  He  was  a  big  gawk  of  a  fellow,  and  lived  mostly 
by  cadging  drinks.  Going  up  to  Hillary  as  he  stood 
in  the  grog  parlour  playing  his  instrument,  he  deliber- 
ately knocked  his  bowing  arm  upwards. 

"That's  a  silly  joke,"  said  the  apprentice  quietly. 
Then,  as  the  aggressor  used  several  foul  epithets,  Hil- 
lary continued:  "You're  an  awful  fool  if  you  really 
think  that  your  disgusting  language  is  more  attractive 
to  these  men  standing  here  than  my  violin  playing. ' ' 

At  this  gracious  compliment,  paid  to  the  listening 
shellbacks,  traders  and  the  three  pretty  native  girls, 
the  rough  audience  blushed.  It  really  was  said  so 
politely,  so  courteously,  and  reflected  such  credit  on 
their  musical  taste  that  one  or  two  of  them  took  a  huge 
sip  from  their  glasses  and  bowed  to  Hillary. 

Bill  Bark  felt  extremely  wild  at  the  laughter  that 
followed  that  invisible  blush,  and  then  once  more 
knocked  Hillary's  bow-arm  up,  just  as  he  had  begun 
to  play  again. 

"Why  not  be  pleasant,  friendly  like? — though 
you're  not  much  of  a  catch,  even  to  look  at,"  said  Hil- 
lary in  quiet  tones  as  he  stopped  playing  once  more. 

"  'Ain't  'e  soft-o!"  said  Bill  Bark,  sotto  voce,  to 
three  boiled-looking  sailormen  who  sat  on  tubs  itching 
to  see  a  fight, 
12 


178         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

As  for  Ulysses,  who  was  watching  the  whole  proceed- 
ing quietly,  his  face  was  a  study.  He  had  not  travelled 
the  South  Seas  for  nothing;  he  saw  further  ahead 
than  all  the  brains  of  Bougainville  put  together.  He 
was  peering  steadfastly  into  Hillary 's  eyes.  He  seemed 
to  be  quite  satisfied  with  what  he  found  there,  for  he 
gave  a  tremendous  guffaw,  smacked  his  big  knee  and 
chuckled  inwardly.  He  knew!  Old  Samuel  Bilbao 
knew;  "Knock  the  ass's  bow  arm  up  again,  Bill 
Bark !  How  dare  he  think  your  oaths  are  worse  than 
his  damned  fiddling ! ' ' 

Hillary  noted  the  deep  undertone  of  Ulysses 's  voice 
as  he  roared  forth  that  demand  to  the  loafer,  and  the 
apprentice  felt  gratified  to  hear  the  subtle  note,  for 
it  told  him  that  Ulysses,  at  least,  knew  that  true  pluck 
is  always  humble. 

To  Samuel  Bilbao 's  immense  delight,  the  loafer,  Bill 
Bark,  once  more  knocked  Hillary's  bow  arm  up  again. 

It  seemed  incredible!  The  audience  in  the  grog 
bar  had  never  seen  anything  so  sudden  before — Bill 
Bark's  two  front  teeth  were  missing !  The  scene  inside 
the  shanty  reminded  one  of  an  exhibition  of  statuary 
done  in  marble  and  terra-cotta  clays,  so  thunderstruck 
were  they  all.  It  was  the  beards  and  whiskers  that 
spoilt  the  statuesque  effect.  For  who  ever  saw  marble 
statues  with  soft  whiskers? — or  smoke  issuing  from 
black- teethed  mouths  that  gripped  short  clap  pipes? 
The  shellbacks,  traders,  Polynesian  maids,  indeed  all 
had  sprung  to  their  feet  and  were  staring  in  astonish- 
ment at  the  crimson  fluid  that  poured  from  Bill  Bark's 
wide-open,  astonished  mouth. 

Hillary  was  the  only  one  who  appeared  calm.  He 
was  methodically  placing  his  violin  carefully  by  the 
bar  counter  so  that  it  should  not  get  damaged  in  the 


THE  HOMERIC  SPIRIT  179 

coming  fray.  He  thought  of  Gabrielle,  and  cursed  his 
luck,  as  he  slowly  took  off  his  coat.  It  seemed  terrible 
to  him  that  he  had  to  conform  to  the  ways  of  a  material- 
istic world  when  he  believed  Gabrielle  was  a  prisoner 
in  a  slave-ship  on  the  high  seas.  So  bitter  were  his 
feelings  that  he  could  have  picked  his  violin  up  before 
them  all  and  smashed  it  to  smithereens  on  the  bar, 
just  to  relieve  his  feelings. 

Ulysses  solemnly  led  the  way  as  the  whole  company 
followed  in  glee  to  see  the  fight  between  the  apprentice 
and  Bill  Bark  under  the  palms  outside  the  bar.  At 
last  the  giant  umpire  tossed  his  antediluvian  helmet 
hat  right  over  the  highest  bread-fruit  tree  and 
shouted:  "Time,  gents,  time!"  Bill  Bark  lay  stiff 
on  his  back  and  looked  straight  up  at  the  soft  blue 
of  the  sky.  And  it  was  good  to  see  the  rapturous 
light  in  Ulysses'  eyes  as  he  stood  there  pulling  his 
vandyke  beard,  his  outstretched  moustachios  stiff  with 
pride.  It  is  certain  that  the  apprentice  had  success- 
fully revealed  to  Bill  Bark  the  force  of  one  great  truth, 
a  truth  that  no  travelled  man  will  deny:  that  often 
quiet-looking  young  men  in  the  South  Seas  have  been 
found  to  be  endowed  with  a  wonderful  gift  for  fist 
repartee  and  a  fine  ability  for  getting  their  own  back 
and  keeping  their  features  intact. 

Had  the  apprentice  accepted  all  the  drink  that  was 
about  after  that  fight  he  would  have  undoubtedly  died 
of  alcoholic  poisoning  and  gone  out  of  the  story  alto- 
gether. As  it  was,  he  seemed  to  have  entered  the 
realms  of  enchantment.  He  played  the  fiddle  as  the 
shellbacks  and  beachcombers  danced.  He  had  never 
seen  such  a  strange  lot  of  men  dance  together  before. 
They  were  certainly  a  mixed  crew,  and  represented  the 
adventurous,  rum-loving  individuals  of  all  national- 


180          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

ities.  They  blessed  Hillary's  generous  soul  as  h« 
shouted : ' '  Rum  for  six ! "  As  they  danced  a  jig  on  the 
bar  floor  they  looked  like  some  peculiar  human  rain- 
bow of  faded  hues  that  had  suddenly  come  out  of  the 
night  of  storm-stricken  seas.  It  wasn't  so  much  their 
eyes  and  rum-coloured  noses  as  their  skins  that  gave 
that  peculiar  impression.  Yellow-skinned,  tawny- 
skinned,  greenish,  brownish  and  bilious,  saffron-hued 
reprobates  they  were.  Some  wore  grizzled  beards,  some 
scarf -shaped  beards  knotted  thickly  at  the  throat  and 
tasselled  at  the  ears ;  billy-goatee  whiskers  abounded — 
and  couldn't  they  dance  too! 

"  Tumpt-er-te-tumper-te  tump-te  tump!"  the  sea- 
boots  went,  as  Hillary,  bunched  up  in  the  corner,  fid- 
dled away  and  the  beards  and  caps  tossed  in  the  dim 
light  of  the  oil  lamps.  Then  the  chorus  came : 

"  Blow  1  blow  1  and  damn  yer  eyes  I 
Haul  the  old  gal  by  the  leg  I 
And  that's  the  way  the  money  flies 
When  we're  out  with  Joan  and  Meg ! " 

And  still  they  danced  on,  their  chests  and  brawny 
arms  visible,  for  they  had  long  since  cast  their  coats 
aside,  owing  to  the  terrific  heat.  The  native  men  and 
women  peeped  through  the  open  doorway  in  delighted 
astonishment  to  watch  the  dancing  sailormen  with  the 
tattoo  on  their  arms  and  chests. 

Sarahs,  Betsy  Janes  and  romantic  maids  of  Shang- 
hai and  Tokio  were  deeply  engraved  on  their  sunburnt 
skin :  women  they  had  loved  and  who  had  jilted  them. 
One  old  man  danced  mournfully,  his  chin  bent  forward 
as  he  contemplated  the  pretty  tattooed  maid  on  his 
own  chest  and  hummed  in  a  melancholy  fashion  as  he 
thought  of — what  ?  The  apprentice  continued  to  play, 
inspired  by  the  shifting  scene.  Slowly  the  room  be- 


•'THE  HOMERIC  SPIRIT  181 

came  obscured  as  though  by  a  ghostly  mist.  Then  a 
puff  of  wind  came  through  the  door  and  blew  three 
of  the  dancers  aways ! — old  beards,  sea-boots,  legs  and 
melancholy  eyes  suddenly  crumpled  up,  all  blown 
away!  Even  the  big  substantial  wooden  bar  faded 
and  vanished  like  a  dream! 

When  the  apprentice  awoke  an  hour  or  two  later 
he  found  that  most  of  his  comrades  slept.  He  took 
a  deep  drink  from  the  water- jug,  after  which  he  real- 
ised that  he  must  have  had  a  good  deal  more  to  drink 
than  was  good  for  him. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS 

ON  the  evening  of  the  day  that  followed  Hil- 
lary 's  stand-up  fight  at  the  shanty  he  went  off 
with  Samuel  Bilbao  to  visit  Gabrielle's  father. 

"Must  see  the  old  man  first,  you  know,"  said 
Ulysses,  as  he  chuckled  over  the  immense  possibilities 
that  loomed  before  his  all-embracing  vision.  He  saw 
money  as  well  as  wild  adventure  ahead:  "A  coastal 
native  town  in  New  Guinea!  A  beautiful  maiden 
stolen,  hidden  away,  abducted  by  a  damned  Macka 
Koo  Rajah — and  Samuel  Bilbao  hired  to  find  her  and 
pound  old  Macka  to  dust — splendid!"  he  chuckled, 
as  he  walked  on  under  the  palms,  pulling  his  large 
viking-like  moustachios. 

Hillary  glanced  at  the  big  man 's  flushed,  happy  face 
and  thanked  God  that  such  hearts  still  existed,  that 
men  with  Herculean  frames  longed  to  do  unheard-of 
things  quite  outside  the  ordinary  business  of  life. 

Then,  as  Bilbao  tugged  his  vandyke  beard,  chuckled 
and  continued  to  roar  over  his  own  thoughts,  Hillary 
said:  "Do  be  quiet;  don't  for  heaven's  sake  mention 
anything  about  your  discarded  queens  and  melancholy 
kings.  You  know  Everard  has  been  an  old  sailor  and 
he  consequently  knows  what  men  are. ' '  Then  the  ap- 
prentice added,  in  soft  tones:  "He  might  draw  wrong 
conclusions  as  to  your  character  and  not  be  willing 
to  trust  you,  you  know." 

The  big  face  expressed  massive  disgust  that  such 

18* 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  183 

an  ignoramus  of  a  youth  should  dare  advise  such  a 
one  as  he.  • 

Hillary  only  smiled  at  seeing  that  look.  He  had 
read  Ulysses  like  a  book,  and  knew  exactly  how  far 
to  go. 

"So  here's  where  the  old  man's  put  up,"  suddenly 
said  Bilbao,  as  they  stopped.  They  had  arrived  out- 
side Everard 's  bungalow  and  Hillary  softly  opened 
the  door. 

Old  Everard  struggled  from  his  chair  and  immedi- 
ately lit  the  oil  lamp,  for  it  was  nearly  dark. 

"Well,  boy,  'eard  anything  about  my  Gabby?"  he 
mumbled,  as  he  struck  matches,  never  looking  behind 
him,  since  he  thought  that  Hillary  had  returned  alone. 
Then,  getting  no  reply,  he  turned  round  and  looked 
straight  into  Samuel  Bilbao's  eyes.  He  stared  at  the 
giant  sailorman  for  quite  ten  seconds,  as  though  a 
vision  had  suddenly  come  before  him.  Then  he  said : 
"You!" 

Bilbao  stared  also  for  ten  seconds,  then  roared  out : 
' '  By  thunder,  it 's  you ! ' ' 

"Who?"  echoed  Hillary's  lips,  as  he  surveyed  the 
two  men  and  wondered  what  next  was  going  to  happen. 
The  two  men,  Bilbao  and  old  Everard,  had  gripped 
hands! 

It  appeared  that  Samuel  Bilbao  had  sailed  as  boat- 
swain under  Everard  when  he  had  been  chief  mate 
of  a  full-rigged  ship  in  the  Australian  clipper  line, 
about  eleven  years  before. 

Hillary  almost  cursed  that  sudden  recognition  as  the 
two  men  rambled  on,  and  Bilbao  shook  his  fist,  bent 
himself  double  with  glee  and  took  monstrous  nips  of 
rum  and  whisky  as  he  discussed  everything,  of  the  past 
and  future,  but  the  vital  matter  in  hand. 


184          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

But  it  turned  out  a  good  thing,  for  before  the  night 
grew  old  the  big  sailor  had  lifted  his  hand  to  the  roof 
and  in  a  thunderous  voice  had  called  all  the  tropic  stars 
to  witness  that  he  would  find  Gabrielle  and  scatter 
Rajah  Koo  Macka's  dust  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven. 
He  swore  to  Everard  and  Hillary  that  he  knew  Macka 
(whether  he  really  did  know  him  at  that  time  was 
something  that  was  never  known  for  a  certainty). 

"I  know  him,  the  old  heathen  kidnapper!"  he 
roared,  as  Hillary  and  old  Everard  stared  at  the  mas- 
sive face  with  its  vikingesque  moustache  stuck  out  like 
spears  from  the  corner  of  his  grim  mouth.  "Seen  'im 
off  Tai-o-hae  five  years  ago,  when  he  abducted  two 
princesses — twins — from  O  le  Mopiu's  royal  seraglio ! " 

It  was  marvellous  the  change  of  atmosphere  Bilbao 
made  in  Gabrielle  *s  old  home,  as  he  thought  over  his 
plans,  consulted  his  chart,  ran  hia  finger  down  the 
degrees  and  murmured : ' '  Easy  as  winking ! ' '  Indeed, 
he  made  everything  look  so  rosy  that  instead  of 
Gabrielle 'a  abduction  being  a  tragedy  it  appeared  a 
blessing  in  disguise. 

And  it  can  be  truthfully  recorded  that  though  Sam- 
uel Bilbao  held  the  advance  of  two  hundred  pounds 
in  gold  and  notes  in  his  mighty  palm,  and  said  that  he 
didn't  like  taking  money  from  an  old  pal,  he  really 
meant  what  he  said.  All  the  same,  he  gave  a  huge 
sigh  of  relief  when  he  felt  a  mass  of  gold  coins  and 
notes  safe  in  his  capacious  pocket.  But  it  must  again 
be  admitted,  in  all  fairness  to  Bilbao,  that  he  could  not 
go  off  and  hire  a  schooner  for  a  voyage  to  the  coast 
of  New  Guinea  to  search  for  Gabrielle  without  some 
cash  in  hand. 

After  that  little  business  matter  was  settled  to  the 
satisfaction  of  both  parties,  Bilbao  looked  at  the  old 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  185 

man  and  said:  ''Ah,  pal  Everard,  she  was  a  beautiful 
maid,  well  worth  the  money,  this  Gabrielle  of  yours. ' ' 
Then  he  continued :  ' '  I  had  great  pleasure  in  meeting 
the  girl,  and  introduced  myself  to  her  as  she  sat  swing- 
ing on  a  bough  in  the  forest  not  far  from  here:  and 
didn't  she  sing  to  me!  Lord!  I  think  the  girl  fell 
madly  in  love  with  my  handsome  face.  I  little  dreamed 
that  I  was  being  passionately  wooed  by  my  old  ship- 
mate's daughter." 

Everard  at  hearing  this  large  contortion  of  the  truth 
only  looked  absently  at  the  big  man  and  said  nothing. 
Then  Ulysses  said  in  a  soft,  sympathetic  voice :  ' '  Ah, 
pal  Everard,  I  can  easily  imagine  how  ye  loved  the 
gal,  soothed  her  pretty  face  and  made  her  love  ye — 
eh,  pal?" 

"I  did!  I  did!"  wailed  the  distracted  old  man, 
his  wretched  heart  quaking  as  he  looked  for  a  moment 
into  Bilbao's  keen  blue  eyes  and  dropped  his  own  in 
shame. 

Hillary,  who  had  told  Ulysses  a  good  deal  about 
Gabrielle 's  home  life  while  he  was  under  the  influence 
of  about  four  whiskies  that  Ulysses  pressed  upon  him, 
gave  his  comrade  a  hasty  pinch  in  the  leg  as  he  won- 
dered what  Bilbao  might  say  next. 

Ulysses  only  replied  by  a  ponderous  wink,  right  in 
front  of  Everard 's  eyes  too!  But  the  ex-sailor  was 
too  far  gone  to  notice  that.  It  took  a  good  deal  of 
persuasion  to  stop  him  from  going  on  the  voyage  to 
New  Guinea  himself,  if  they  were  successful  in  hiring 
a  schooner.  "You'd  better  stay  at  home;  the  poor 
girl  may  return  while  we're  away  at  sea,  and  what 
would  she  say  at  missing  her  dear  old  father,"  said 
Bilbao  sympathetically. 

The  big  man  looked  at  the  apprentice  and  gave 


186         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

another  wink,  and  said:  "We  don't  want  no  old  pa 
with  us,  eh?" 

Hillary  responded  by  a  vacant  look;  then,  seeing 
Ulysses's  broad,  friendly  smile,  lifted  his  hand  and 
smacked  the  giant  on  the  back  uproariously.  Alas! 
even  the  apprentice  was  under  the  influence  of  drink. 

Gabrielle's  father  sat  huddled  in  his  arm-chair; 
his  wooden  leg  shivered  pathetically  as  he  mumbled: 
"So  she's  on  the  Bird  of  Paradise,  my  daughter,  my 
Gabby." 

As  for  Ulysses,  when  he  heard  the  name  of  the  ship 
he  smacked  his  mighty  knees  and  roared  out:  "Ho! 
ho !  for  a  bottle  of  rum !  The  Bird  of  Paradise ! ' '  The 
adventurous  sailorman  had  made  all  possible  inquiries 
about  the  aforesaid  vessel  when  it  sailed  from  the 
straits,  etc.,  and  had  calculated  to  a  nicety  when  it 
would  arrive  in  New  Guinea.  "There's  no  time  to 
lose,  by  heaven!"  he  thundered,  as  he  swallowed  his 
ninth  whisky  and  looked  at  the  parlour  clock.  Then 
he  shook  Hillary,  woke  him  up  with  a  start  and  said : 
' ' Come  on,  lad,  let's  put  the  old  man  to  bed ;  he 's  tired ; 
it 's  the  least  we  can  do  for  him. ' ' 

Before  Everard  fell  to  the  floor  they  both  lifted  him 
and  placed  him  comfortably  on  his  settee.  Drunk  as 
the  prematurely  aged  ex-sailor  was,  he  looked  like  some 
bedraggled  apostle  as  he  lay  there  on  his  couch,  his 
hands  crossed,  a  smile  on  his  lips,  as  though  he  still 
laughed  to  himself  over  Ulysses'  wild  jokes. 

Then  they  both  left  the  bungalow.  If  Hillary  stag- 
gered slightly  as  he  gripped  Bilbao's  arm,  and  thought 
that  the  coco-palms  were  doing  a  hushed  step-dance 
on  the  moon-lit  slopes  of  Bougainville,  it  must  be  taken 
into  account  that  he  had  to  be  sociable.  He  could 
not  very  well  stand  like  a  mute  as  those  reunited  ship- 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  187 

mates  drank  to  the  sprees  of  other  days  and  finished 
up  in  wild  farewells  and  sanguine  toasts  to  the  suc- 
cess of  the  venture  they  were  engaged  upon.  As  the 
apprentice  softly  closed  the  front  door  of  the  bungalow 
Bilboa  said,  ''Wait  a  tick,"  and  hurriedly  returning 
into  the  parlour  he  picked  up  the  whisky  bottle  and 
swallowed  the  remaining  contents.  He  excused  him- 
self before  Hillary  by  saying :  ' '  Ah !  youngster,  I  had 
to  drink  once  again  to  the  success  of  our  venture  and 
to  the  pretty  eyes  of  that  girl;  we'll  find  her,  don't 
you  fear." 

"I  know  we  will,"  replied  the  apprentice,  as  he 
clutched  the  big  man 's  arm. 

As  they  stole  along  under  the  palms  Bilbao's  heart 
fairly  bubbled  with  mirth  as  he  realised  the  possibil- 
ities of  this  new  adventure.  It  would  take  him  out  on 
the  seas  again !  It  was  evident  that  his  present  quiet 
life  was  palling  upon  him.  No  one  knew  why  he  was 
hiding  from  the  arm  of  the  law  in  Bougainville,  and 
no  one  cared.  All  that  can  positively  be  stated  here  is 
that  his  heart  was  bursting  to  escape  from  the  rough 
settlement  where  Germans  drank  lager  and  beach 
combers  slept  between  their  drinks.  Such  happiness 
was  too  much  for  him. 

' '  Splendid ! "  he  reiterated,  as  he  brought  his  open 
hand  down  on  Hillary 's  back.  But  Hillary  cared  not ; 
his  heart  sang  within  him  like  a  bird :  whisky  and  his 
comrade's  mighty  belief  in  the  success  of  all  that  they 
might  undertake  had  made  him  entirely  careless  of 
the  moment.  ' '  Go  it,  boy ! ' '  said  Ulysses  to  the  young 
apprentice,  rattling  the  money  in  his  capacious  pocket, 
and  Hillary  joined  lustily  in  the  rollicking  chorus  of 
some  Spanish  chantey. 

"When  they   eventually   arrived   outside   Hillary's 


188          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

lodgings  Samuel  Bilbao  swore  that  he  lived  there. 
And  Hillary?  Well,  he  was  so  confused  that  he  ob- 
sequiously followed  Ulysses  in  at  that  worthy's  kind 
invitation.  And  Mango  Pango  lay  on  her  little  bed- 
mat  in  the  outhouse  and  could  not  believe  her  ears  that 
night,  as  she  mumbled  to  herself:  "Surely  not  nicer 
Hill-eary  shouting  wilder  song  in  ze  middle  night,  up 
dere  in  his  bedrooms?"  And  then  the  astounded 
Mango  Pango  heard  no  more,  for  Ulysses  was  com- 
fortably fast  asleep  in  Hillary's  bed — while  the  ap- 
prentice slept  on  the  floor. 

In  the  morning  Hillary 's  landlady  fairly  gasped  to 
see  so  big  and  so  handsome  a  man  in  her  quiet  young 
lodger's  company.  And  as  for  pretty  Mango  Pango, 
she  opened  her  eyes  and  stared  at  Ulysses  as  though 
God  sat  there  in  front  of  her.  And  when  Ulysses 
swallowed  a  quart  of  boiling  tea  and  then  sat  her  on 
his  massive  lap,  her  eyes  shone  like  diamonds.  Though 
Hillary's  head  felt  a  bit  heavy  after  the  preceding 
night's  libations  he  could  not  help  smiling  as  Samuel 
Bilbao  kissed  the  Polynesian  maid's  dusky  ear  and 
whispered  pretty  things  to  her.  And  was  Mango  Pango 
abashed?  Not  in  the  least.  It  was  very  evident  that 
Samuel  Bilbao  was  smitten  with  that  dusky  maid's 
charms. 

But  all  these  recorded  things  are  small  enough  com- 
pared with  the  great  venture  that  they  were  entering 
upon.  Even  Ulysses  realised  that  time  was  valuable 
and  that  many  difficulties  might  beset  their  path  be- 
fore they  could  hire  a  schooner  and  keep  their  promise 
to  Everard.  And  more,  the  young  apprentice  quickly 
gave  Bilbao  a  hint  that  they'd  better  be  off,  and  that 
Mango  Pango 's  charms  could  wait  till  a  later  date. 

That  same  day  Ulysses  went  down  to  the  beach  and 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  189 

tried  to  get  round  all  the  schooners'  skippers  off 
Bougainville.  But  it  turned  out  that  none  was  will- 
ing to  accept  the  fee  Bilbao  offered  for  the  hire  of  a 
schooner,  or  to  take  him  as  passenger  to  the  coast 
of  New  Guinea. 

Just  as  Hillary  and  his  comrade  were  getting  dubi- 
ous about  their  chances  they  heard  that  a  schooner,  the 
Sea  Foam,  was  about  to  sail  for  New  Britain  and  then 
on  to  Dutch  New  Guinea.  In  a  moment  Bilbao  had 
hired  a  boat  and  was  rowed  out  to  the  Sea  Foam,  which 
lay  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  by  the  barrier  reefs.  Bilbao 
at  once  went  aboard  and  interviewed  the  skipper,  and 
found  that  he  was  a  mean  man  and  wanted  more  money 
than  Ulysses  possessed  to  alter  his  course  or  take 
Ulysses  for  a  passage  at  all. 

When  Bilbao  returned  to  Parsons 's  grog  bar,  where 
he  had  arranged  to  meet  Hillary,  he  looked  worried. 
It  was  evident  to  the  young  apprentice  that  he  had 
entered  heart  and  soul  into  the  whole  business.  The 
fact  was  that  he  was  anxious  to  clear  out  of  Bougain- 
ville, and  so  the  scheme  in  hand  offered  him  all  that 
he  wanted :  money,  a  change,  and  the  forlorn  hope  and 
excitement  that  were  meat  and  drink  to  his  volcanic 
temperament. 

"Don't  despair,  boy,"  said  he  to  Hillary,  "Bilbao 
never  caved  in  yet  while  the  world  went  round  the 
sun. ' '  Then  they  both  went  back  to  Hillary 's  lodgings. 
Ulysses  seemed  deep  in  thought  as  they  passed  under 
the  palms.  Then  he  said  to  Hillary:  "The  chief  mate 
of  that  Sea  Foam  is  an  old  pal  of  mine. ' ' 

"Is  he?"  said  the  apprentice,  wondering  what 
Ulysses  was  driving  at. 

"Yes,  he  is,"  responded  Bilbao.  Then  he  added: 
"I'm  going  out  to  see  that  mate,  and  I  wouldn't 


190 

wonder  if  the  Sea  Foam  doesn't  sail  to-morrow  night 
with  you  and  me  on  board. ' ' 

"Really? "said  Hillary. 

"Yes,  really!"  responded  Bilbao,  as  he  told  his 
surprised  comrade  to  get  his  traps  packed  ready  to 
sail  the  next  night. 

' '  But  didn  't  you  say  the  skipper  wanted  eight  hun- 
dred pounds  ? ' '  said  Hillary  after  a  pause. 

"We  don't  get  all  we  want  in  this  world,"  replied 
Ulysses,  as  he  gave  a  massive  wink. 

When  they  eventually  got  back  to  Hillary 's  lodgings, 
the  apprentice  was  so  sanguine  over  Bilbao's  hopeful 
outlook  that  he  too  felt  quite  cheerful.  He  opened 
his  sea-chest  and  showed  his  big  comrade  Gabrielle's 
photograph.  Ulysses  stared  at  the  face,  smacked  Hil- 
lary on  the  back,  then  kissed  the  photograph  gallantly. 

After  that  Hillary  sat  down  in  his  room  and  fell 
into  deep  reflections  over  the  mysterious  disappearance 
of  Gabrielle.  Then  he  played  his  violin  so  as  to  soothe 
his  own  feelings.  He  was  quite  undisturbed  by  Bilbao. 
For  that  worthy  had  sneaked  off  outside  beneath  the 
palms  so  that  he  could  woo  pretty  Mango  Pango. 
Hillary  heard  shrieks  of  laughter  coming  from  the 
dusky  maiden 's  lips  as  Ulysses  whispered  heaven  only 
knows  what  pretty  things  into  her  ears.  Anyhow, 
Mango  Pango  fell  desperately  in  love  with  Samuel 
Bilbao.  And  when  he  and  Hillary  left  Mango  Pango 's 
kitchen  that  evening  the  young  apprentice  noticed 
that  his  comrade  was  full  of  glee  over  some  new 
scheme  that  had  originated  in  his  versatile  brain. 

Mango  Pango 's  eyes  shone  like  fire  as  she  waved  her 
hand  to  Bilbao  and  behaved  as  though  she'd  known 
the  giant  sailorman  since  her  earliest  childhood. 

"She's  mine! — mine  for  ever!"  chuckled  Bilbao. 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  191 

Hillary  took  little  notice  of  Bilbao's  wild  utterances, 
but  it  was  not  long  before  he  discovered  that  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  meaning  in  all  that  Ulysses  said, 
and  also  in  the  humour  of  his  chuckles. 

It  would  be  a  mass  of  wearying  detail  to  tell  all  that 
occurred  before  Ulysses,  secured  the  Sea  Foam  so  that 
they  might  sail  straight  for  the  coast  of  New  Guinea 
without  the  charge  for  her  hire  unduly  diminishing 
his  private  exchequer.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
Ulysses  made  the  very  best  of  his  old  friendship  with 
the  chief  mate  of  the  Sea  Foam.  And  perhaps  it  will 
enlighten  the  reader  a  good  deal  to  know  that  the 
chief  mate  came  ashore  that  night  and  had  a  long 
private  conversation  and  multitudinous  mixed  drinks 
with  Bilbao  in  Parsons 's  grog  bar.  Hillary  stood  aside 
as  the  two  men  spoke  in  very  low  undertones  and 
Ulysses  poked  the  mate  in  the  ribs  and  showed  him  a 
handful  of  gold.  Then  the  mate  began  to  get  jovial 
and  gave  Ulysses  a  receipt  for  several  of  the  golden 
coins.  Of  course  it  was  none  of  Hillary's  business 
as  to  how  the  Sea  Foam  was  to  be  hired.  Ulysses 
had  taken  that  part  of  the  job  on,  and  as  an  innocent 
girl's  very  life  was  at  stake,  what  might  appear  to  be 
a  shady  transaction  in  getting  hold  of  the  schooner 
was  only  a  necessary  part  of  the  day's  work,  so  far 
as  Ulysses  was  concerned.  He  chuckled  inwardly  to 
see  the  mate's  delight  over  the  bribe  he'd  given  him. 
But  his  success  with  the  mate  of  the  Sea  Foam  was  as 
nothing  when  he  discovered  that  the  Sea  Foam's  skip- 
per was  a  terrible  drunkard ;  and  to  make  things  easier 
still  the  skipper  himself  came  into  that  very  bar  and, 
seeing  Ulysses  flush  of  cash,  swallowed  several  good 
strong  nips  of  rum  at  his  expense. 

'  'No,  never ! "  said  Skipper  Long  John  (for  such  was 


192          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

the  Sea  Foam  captain's  name),  as  good  old  Samuel 
Bilbao  spun  his  mighty  yarns,  telling  of  the  vvoundrous 
deeds  in  his  seafaring  career.  Still  the  skipper  con- 
tinued to  drink,  so  that  when  at  last  he  fell  down  on 
the  floor  of  Parsons 's  saloon  bar  after  drinking  his 
nineteenth  rum  no  one  was  surprised.  What  may 
have  been  the  surprising  matter  of  the  whole  business 
was  this:  That  same  skipper  was  arrested  that  same 
night  for  using  bad  language  and  insulting  two  Poly- 
nesian girls  on  the  beach !  No  one  saw  the  girls  who 
had  been  so  grossly  insulted ;  all  that  was  known  about 
the  matter  was  that  the  skipper  was  seen  staggering 
about  the  beach  that  night,  trying  to  hire  some  natives 
to  paddle  him  out  to  his  schooner,  when  he  was  sud- 
denly seized  from  behind  by  two  Herculean-framed 
members  of  the  native  police  and  taken  off  to  the  Bou- 
gainville calaboose  (jail).  It  was  rumoured  long  after 
that  he  was  fined  fifty  dollars  or  two  weeks'  solitary 
confinement.  How  the  poor  old  skipper  took  his  hard 
luck  is  not  known.  Anyway,  one  can  rest  assured  that 
he  never  dreamed  that  Samuel  Bilbao  knew  the  head 
of  the  native  police  force  in  Rokeville,  and  that  whilst 
he  languished  in  jail  that  worthy  chuckled  with  delight 
over  the  success  of  his  scheme;  and  the  head  of  the 
native  police  was  mightily  pleased  with  the  bribe  he 
had  received  from  Samuel  Bilbao !  So  was  the  schooner 
secured. 

It  may  seem  wonderful  how  the  thing  was  done. 
But  the  civil  authorities  in  those  parts  and  the  owners 
in  Sydney  can  vouch  for  it  that  the  Sea  Foam,  with 
Samuel  Bilbao  on  board  as  captain,  sailed  out  of 
Bougainville  harbour  at  midnight  on  10th  February, 
and  no  one  knew  for  what  port  she  had  sailed. 

Hillary  half  wondered  if  he  was  in  the  throes  of  some 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  193 

marvellous  dream  as  he  stood  on  the  Sea  Foam's  deck 
just  before  she  sailed.  Ulysses  was  walking  about  the 
deck  shouting  orders  to  his  willing  crew.  And  the 
crew  were  singing  their  chanteys  cheerfully  as  they 
thought  over  the  conviviality  of  their  new  skipper, 
who  had  so  generously  primed  them  up  with  the  best 
Jamaica  rum.  Not  one  tear  was  shed  when  they  heard 
that  their  late  skipper,  Long  John,  had  broken  his 
leg  and  was  lying  helpless  in  the  tin-roofed  hospital 
at  Silbar,  in  Bougainville.  For  such  was  the  sad  news 
Ulysses  imparted  when  he  had  mustered  them  on  deck 
and  told  them  that  he  and  the  chief  mate  had  orders 
to  sail  at  once.  There  was  not  the  slightest  need  to 
tell  them  verbally  that  he  was  henceforth  their  cap- 
tain. The  old  boatswain  saw  the  imperative  command 
of  those  eyes  and  saluted  the  new  skipper,  and  every 
man  on  board  instinctively  straightened  his  backbone. 
In  a  moment  Ulysses  had  cast  off  his  faded  coat  and 
pants  and  old  boots.  None  wondered  when  he  ap- 
peared on  deck  in  the  late  captain's  best  sea-going 
clothes,  and  on  his  head  the  brass-bound,  badged  peak- 
cap  that  he  had  found  in  the  skipper's  large  sea-chest. 
Everything  went  well.  The  south-west  trades  were 
blowing  steadily;  no  night  could  be  more  favourable 
for  setting  sail  and  clearing  the  harbour.  "Set  to! 
Haul  the  anchor  up ! "  he  roared. 

When  Hillary  heard  the  rattling  of  the  chain  and 
saw  the  men  aloft  fisting  the  sail  he  rubbed  his  eyes. 
' '  It 's  another  hopeless  dream, ' '  he  said. 

Ulysses  all  this  time  was  leaning  over  the  gangway, 
peering  down  into  the  gloom,  as  he  tugged  at  a  rope. 
And  as  Hillary  watched  he  saw  that  he  was  pulling 
something  up  that  dangled  in  space ;  he  had  distinctly 
heard  a  musical  voice  that  he  was  astonished  to  recog- 

13 


194         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

nise.  ' '  Hold  hard !  Gently  there,  you  son  of  a  gun ! ' ' 
yelled  Ulysses,  as  the  deck-hands  and  the  boatswain 
stood  by  grinning  from  ear  to  ear.  And  still  three  of 
the  crew  and  Ulysses  hauled  carefully  at  the  taut 
tackle,  as  they  repeatedly  looked  over  the  vessel 's  side. 
' '  God  damn  it,  slew  her  up !  Mind  her  starboard  leg ! 
Over !  Over  there !  Right-o !  Up  she  comes !  Gently, 
lads ;  gently  does  the  trick !  Let  go ! " 

"God  in  heaven!"  gasped  Hillary,  for  out  of  the 
basket  hauled  up  from  the  outrigger  canoe  that  had 
just  arrived  alongside,  plomp!  down  on  the  deck 
jumped  pretty  Mango  Pango ! 

Hillary  did  not  dream.  There  she  stood,  her  pearly 
teeth  visible  by  the  light  of  the  oil  lamp  in  the  gang- 
way, her  eyes  sparkling  as  she  laughed  with  glee,  like 
some  happy  child.  Ulysses  had  persuaded  her  to  bolt 
from  her  mistress's  kitchen  and  accompany  him  on 
that  voyage  out  to  New  Guinea. 

"Well,  I'm  blest!  He  can  do  anything  he  under- 
takes," said  Hillary  to  himself,  as  he  realised  why 
Bilbao  had  chuckled  so  much  when  the  two  of  them 
had  last  said  good-bye  to  Mango  Pango. 

Before  the  moon  was  well  up  the  Sea  Foam  had 
sailed,  disappearing  silently  out  of  Bougainville  har- 
bour, bound  for  the  great  unknown,  so  far  as  the  crew 
were  concerned.  Not  a  soul  aboard  the  Sea  Foam  slept 
that  night.  When  everything  was  snug  aloft,  and  they 
were  tacking  before  a  steady  breeze  for  the  coral  seas, 
Ulysses  called  all  hands  aft  and  served  out  rum.  Sev- 
eral of  the  crew  were  Britishers,  three  were  Kanakas, 
one  a  Jap  and  the  other  a  nondescript  nigger.  The 
crew  wondered  what  was  going  to  happen  next  when 
they  saw  Ulysses  at  the  cuddy  table  and  Mango  Pango 
installed  at  the  head.  And  they  too  joined  in  the 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  195 

songs  and  laughter,  as  the  glasses  clinked  and  the  late 
skipper's  champagne  disappeared.  It  was  only  the 
mate  who  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  the  wild  hilarity 
on  board.  He  was  a  bilious-looking  fellow  and  looked 
terribly  nervous  as  Ulysses  roared  at  the  top  of  his 
voice.  The  mate  had  already  regretted  his  share  in  the 
scheme  that  had  cast  his  late  skipper  into  jail  and  in- 
stalled Ulysses  in  his  stead.  He  was  unable  to  persuade 
himself  that  he  would  be  acquitted  by  any  jury  when 
they  learnt  that  he  had  sailed  under  the  jovial  orders 
of  Captain  Samuel  Bilbao.  Bilbao  had  smacked  him 
on  the  back  and  sworn  that  everything  would  be  all 
right.  "You've  nothing  to  worry  about;  all  you've 
got  to  do  is  to  say  that  I  came  aboard  this  ship  and 
proved  my  legitimate  right  to  install  myself  as  the  new 
skipper. ' '  Saying  this,  Ulysses  tried  to  ease  the  mate 's 
mind  by  pulling  from  his  pocket  the  late  skipper's 
pocket-book  and  papers,  also  a  note-of-hand  that  was 
presumably  written  in  the  late  skipper's  handwriting. 
This  note  stated  that  the  care  of  the  Sea  Foam  was  to 
be  given  over  to  Captain  Samuel  Bilbao,  who  had 
instructions  to  sail  at  once.  Such  was  the  whole 
scheme,  so  far  as  Hillary  could  make  it  out.  Anyway, 
though  the  mate  became  gloomy  and  sallow-looking 
as  the  days  went  by,  Ulysses  got  redder  in  the  face  and 
even  perceptibly  fatter.  It  would  have  pleased  the 
devoutest  hearts  could  they  have  seen  the  modest 
decorum  of  Mango  Pango's  private  cabin  on  the 
cuddy's  port  side.  Ulysses  had  made  the  cabin-boy 
fix  it  up  in  quite  artistic  style.  A  little  German  bronze 
mirror  swung  to  and  fro  by  the  small  port-hole,  pict- 
ures of  Biblical  subjects  decorated  the  low  roof  and 
walls,  and  all  the  niceties  that  a  maid  might  re- 


196         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

quire  were  to  be  found  in  the  quickly  extemporised 
apartment. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  the  first  few  days  were 
monotonous  and  quite  unromantic.  For  a  bit  of  a  wind 
came  up  and  made  the  Sea  Foam  heave  and  lurch. 
This  instability  caused  poor  Mango  Pango  suddenly  to 
rush  from  her  chamber  and  groan  with  anguish  as  she 
knelt  by  the  port-side  scuppers.  She  was  terribly  sea- 
sick. Ulysses  would  give  a  ponderous,  sympathetic 
wink  as  she  rushed  back  to  her  bunk  and  closed  the 
door  of  her  cabin.  Then  the  little  Papuan  cabin-boy, 
Tombo  Nuvolo,  would  stand  sentinel  just  by  the  saloon 
port-hole  to  see  that  no  one  quizzed  or  came  near  the 
modest  maiden's  abode.  But  Mango  Pango  soon 
recovered  from  her  illness,  and  attired  in  her  pretty 
blue  robe,  scarlet  and  yellow  ribbon  in  her  mass  of 
coral-dyed  hair,  came  out  on  deck  to  bask  in  the  hot 
sunshine. 

When  Hillary  sat  down  by  her  side  and  told  her  that 
the  Sea  Foam  was  bound  for  New  Guinea,  and  that 
Ulysses  and  he  were  going  in  search  of  Gabrielle 
Everard,  she  opened  her  pretty  eyes  and  mouth  in 
unbounded  astonishment  and  said:  "Awaie! — 
Wearly !  Going  in  searcher  of  poor  Gabberlel  who  ams 
in  New  Ginner !  Never ! ' '  And  then,  while  she  lifted 
her  hands  and  uttered  her  quaint  Samoan  exclama- 
tions (she  was  born  in  Apia,  Samoa)  Hillary  told  her 
as  much  about  the  reason  of  the  voyage  and  of  all  they 
had  heard  about  Eajah  Macka  as  he  thought  advisable. 

Mango  Pango  was  a  real  blessing  to  the  apprentice ; 
she  was  so  full  of  childish  vivacity,  song  and  laughter 
that  she  dispelled  his  gloomy  thoughts  and  made  him 
quite  cheerful  at  times.  "Thank  heaven  that  she 
was  fool  enough  to  be  persuaded  to  come  on  this  extra- 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  197 

ordinary  venture,"  thought  Hillary,  as  the  girl  per- 
formed a  native  step-dance  while  he  fiddled,  and  didu  't 
appear  to  trouble  about  her  position  in  the  least. 
Samuel  Bilbao  would  stand  by,  his  mighty  viking 
moustachios  rippling  to  the  sea-breeze  as  he  sang  some 
romantic  strain  and  gazed  admiringly  on  the  dancing 
Mango  Pango,  who  revelled  in  his  praise.  Heaven 
knows  what  Bilbao's  alleged  harem  of  island  Penelopes 
would  have  thought  could  they  have  seen  their  absent 
Ulysses's  massive  gallantry  and  the  glance  of  his  eyes 
as  Mango  danced  by  the  galley  amidships.  It  is  true 
that  several  of  the  sailors  made  eyes  at  Mango  Pango 
when  Ulysses  was  having  his  afternoon  nap  in  the  late 
captain's  cosy  bunk.  And  it  must  be  confessed  that 
she  didn  't  seem  to  take  the  sailors '  advances  as  though 
she  thought  them  amiss.  But  still,  she  behaved  with 
considerable  propriety,  and  only  very  slyly  blew  sur- 
reptitious kisses  back  to  the  aged  bottle-nosed  boat- 
swain, Jonathan  Snooks,  who  looked  at  the  dusky  maid 
and  said  more  with  his  eyes  than  he  should  have  done, 
considering  that  he  had  a  wife  in  Shanghai  and  two 
more  in  'Frisco ! 

What  a  voyage  it  was !  Hillary  thought  of  England, 
of  his  home.  "What  would  the  mater,  the  governor, 
my  sisters  and  Uncle  William  think  could  they  see  me 
sailing  across  the  coral  seas  to  rescue  a  white  girl  from 
the  heathen  temple  of  a  Papuan  Rajah?"  He  would 
incline  his  eyes  from  the  sky-line  and  look  back  on 
the  deck  of  the  Sea  Foam  to  convince  himself  of  the 
reality  of  it  all. 

"Don't  stand  there  mooching  about  with  that 
mournful  look  on  yer  ugly  mug!"  yelled  Samuel  Bil- 
bao, as  he  stood  there,  nearly  seven  feet  high,  watching 
Mango  Pango 's  five  feet  five  inches  dancing  exquisitely 


198         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

beneath  the  shaded  awning  that  he'd  ordered  to  be 
rigged  up  by  the  cuddy 's  private  deck.  Then  he  yelled 
for  the  cook,  demanding  that  worthy's  presence  aft 
to  play  the  accordion  and  make  up  the  Sea  Foam's 
scratch  orchestra  for  a  song  and  dance.  Ulysses  be- 
gan to  play  his  bone  clappers  (he  was  a  crack  hand 
at  the  clappers).  And  it  was  a  sight  worth  seeing  as 
the  crew  stood  obediently  in  a  semi-circle,  opened  their 
bearded  mouths  and  exercised  their  big,  hoarse- 
throated  voices  to  the  full  extent  as  they  all  roared 
the  chorus  of  old  Malayan  sea-chanteys  till  far  into  the 
night.  And  if  the  pretty  Samoan  maid,  Mango  Pango, 
couldn't  dance  like  a  sea-faery,  or  mermaid,  on  the 
Sea  Foam's  deck,  under  the  full  brilliance  of  the  tropic 
moon,  then  no  one  on  the  seas  ever  will  be  able  to  do  so. 
Even  the  remorseful,  bilious  chief  mate  opened  his 
mouth,  mumbling  a  belated  melody  when  Ulysses  put 
forth  his  long  arm  and  conducted  the  chorus  of — 

"  For  I  went  down  South  for  to  see  my  Sal, 
Singing  Polly-wolly-doodle  all  the  way." 

Then  he  inclined  his  massive,  curly  head  and,  gaz- 
ing sideways  into  Mango  Pango 's  delighted  eyes,  he 
continued  bellowing  forth  in  such  tones  that  the  star- 
tled sea-birds  far  out  of  the  night  gave  a  fright- 
ened wail: 

"  Fare  thee  well,  fare  thee  well, 
Fare  thee  well,  my  Faery  Fay ; 
For  I'm  off  to  Lousianna  for  to  see  my  Susiannah, 
Singing  Polly-wolly-doodle  all  the  way ! " 

So  did  Samuel  Bilbao  pass  his  spare  time  on  board 
the  Sea  Foam.  There  were  only  one  or  two  cases  of 
insubordination  amongst  the  crew.  Ulysses  discov- 
ered that  they'd  had  several  stand-up  fights'  on  grog 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  199 

nights.  And  he  was  in  a  fearful  rage  when  he  heard 
of  it.  For  if  he  had  one  weakness,  it  was  his  mad  love 
of  being  umpire  at  a  stand-up  fight. 

Excitement  did  not  always  prevail  on  the  Sea  Foam; 
sometimes  the  atmosphere  became  quite  subdued. 
Hillary  would  sit  for  hours  dreaming  of  Gabrielle, 
Mango  Pango  dreaming  of  her  late  mistress  and 
Ulysses  presumably  thinking  about  his  melancholy 
heathen  kings  and  forlorn  queens.  The  weather  be- 
came terrifically  hot.  Even  the  crew  became  subdued 
in  the  heat  of  that  tropic  sea.  It  was  only  when  the 
stars  came  out  and  a  tiny  breath  of  wind  swept  across 
the  calm  sea  that  things  began  to  liven  up  on  board. 
The  sound  of  a  faint,  far-off  song  of  England  would 
come  from  the  forecastle.  Then  Bully  Beef,  the  boat- 
swain 's  pet  dog,  would  look  through  the  scuppers  and 
bark  like  a  fiend  at  the  mirrored  stars  that  twinkled 
in  the  ocean  as  the  Sea  Foam  plopped  and  the  rigging 
wailed.  It  was  on  such  nights  that  Hillary,  Mango  and 
Bilbao  would  sit  together  and  talk  or  sing. 

One  night  as  the  sun  was  sinking  and  throwing 
magic  colours  over  the  western  sky-line,  and  the  hot 
winds  flapped  the  sails,  making  a  far-away  musical 
clamour,  Hillary  sat  by  the  cuddy  door  reading  poems 
to  Ulysses  and  Mango  Pango.  As  the  apprentice  read 
out  Byron's  Don  Juan,  Ulysses  stamped  his  mighty 
feet  for  an  encore.  Then  he  read  them  passages  from 
The  Corsair,  till  Samuel  Bilbao,  with  hand  arched  over 
his  blue  eyes,  fell  into  a  poetic  mood,  as  Hillary's  musi- 
cal voice  rippled  off: 

"  She  rose,  she  sprung,  she  clung  to  his  embrace 
Till  his  heart  heaved  beneath  her  hidden  face, 
He  dared  not  raise  to  his  that  deep-blue  eye. 


200         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

And  when  he  read  out  the  description  of  Medora 
and  Conrad 's  sad  farewell — 

Her  long  fair  hair  lay  floating  o'er  his  arms 
In  all  the  wildness  of  dishevell'd  charms  " — 

Ulysses  almost  wept.  Hillary  seemed  to  draw  the  ro- 
mance of  the  sea  out  of  those  sparkling  stanzas. 

"Wish  we  had  the  cove  who  wrote  those  things  on 
this  venture,  said  Bilbao;  then  he  added:  "Is  it  all 
true?  Who  wrote  'em?" 

"It's  all  written  by  Byron;  and  it's  as  true  as 
gospel!" 

' '  Byron  ?  Is  that  the  cove 's  name  ?  I  wish  we  had 
him  here;  he  and  I  would  hit  it  well,  I  know,"  mut- 
tered Ulysses.  Then  he  leaned  forward  and  sang  a 
song  to  Mango  Pango  's  pretty  eyes,  as  the  youth  read 
on.  It  was  a  strange  sight  to  see  that  romantic  swash- 
buckler of  the  seas  so  interested  in  all  that  Hillary 
read,  and  to  hear  his  critical  comments.  The  highly 
coloured,  rebellious  poetry,  written  mostly  by  anaemic 
youth,  did  not  appeal  to  Samuel  Bilbao  at  all. 

To  him  adventures  came  as  a  matter  of  course.  To 
be  on  that  vessel  bound  for  New  Guinea  to  rescue  a 
maid  in  distress  did  not  excite  his  emotions  unduly; 
it  was  all  in  the  day's  work.  Hillary  often  noticed 
this  fact  about  Bilbao.  The  apprentice  was  astonished 
at  the  calm  way  he  spoke  of  rescuing  Gabrielle  from 
the  heathen 's  clutches ;  of  killing  Macka  and  sending 
his  bleached  skull,  carefully  packed  up,  to  old  Everard 
in  Bougainville,  as  a  substantial  proof  that  he  'd  killed 
the  man  and  rescued  the  daughter,  and  so  had  fulfilled 
the  contract  according  to  terms. 

Hillary,  as  time  went  on,  was  inclined  to  be  nervous 
and  impatient,  and  Mango  Pango  became  extremely 
superstitious  and  swore  that  every  shadow  was  a  ghost. 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  201 

As  for  Ulysses,  he  roared  with  laughter  about  Solomon 
Island  shadows,  and  when  Mango  spoke  about  such 
things  he  told  her  she  was  ' '  potty. ' '  It  may  have  been 
Bilbao's  liberality  with  the  cases  of  champagne  that 
were  found  down  in  the  lazaret  that  upset  Hillary's 
nervous  system.  And  if  he  did  take  a  little  more  than 
was  good  for  him  he  was  to  be  excused,  for  the  weather 
was  terribly  muggy  and  hot  at  times.  Anyhow. 
Bilbao  often  cheered  him  up  when  he  was  down  in 
the  mouth. 

"Don't  get  down  in  the  mug,  boy;  we're  making 
headway  quick  enough.  The  Rajah  and  his  damned 
ship  are  not  so  far  ahead.  We'll  be  in  New  Guinea 
before  him  yet." 

But  Hillary  knew  that  Ulysses  did  not  control  the 
winds  of  heaven.  And  yet  at  times  it  seemed  to  him 
that  these  same  winds  were  blowing  in  perfect  sym- 
pathy with  his  wishes  as  the  Sea  Foam  went  racing 
before  the  steady  breeze. 

On  the  evening  of  the  eighth  day  out  from  Bougain- 
ville a  typhoon  blew  the  Sea  Foam  leagues  out  of  her 
course  to  the  north-west.  Ulysses  roared  forth  his 
oaths  as  only  he  could  roar,  while  the  crew  slashed 
away  at  the  tackle,  endeavouring  to  relieve  the  thun- 
derous flappings  of  the  torn  sails.  Two  boats  were 
washed  away.  The  boatswain  nearly  wept  when  the 
huge  sea  came  and  washed  Bully  Beef,  his  pet  dog, 
overboard. 

"Lower  the  only  boat  we've  got  left  to  save  your 

b dog,"  roared  Bilbao,  as  he  stood  on  deck,  his 

Vandyke  beard  and  moustache  stiff,  and  rippling  to 
port  as  the  wind  struck  him  and  mountainous  seas  rose 
level  with  the  bulwark  side  to  windward.  The  chief 
mate,  gazing  aloft  with  sunken,  socket-like  eyes, 


202         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

seemed  almost  pleased  with  the  idea  that  the  Sea  Foam 
might  any  moment  turn  turtle  and  so  cut  short  his 
eternal  fear  about  the  jury 's  verdict  if  ever  his  duplic- 
ity got  him  into  the  clutches  of  the  law.  He  was  slowly 
fading  to  a  shadow  through  all  the  worry  that  Bilbao 
had  brought  on  to  his  trembling  shoulders.  Even  at 
that  early  date  a  decided  looseness  in  his  brass-bound 
reefer  packet  was  noticeable,  clearly  indicating  the 
shrinkage  of  his  once  plump  form. 

Mango  Pango,  hearing  the  seas  beating  against  the 
schooner's  side,  looked  through  the  cuddy's  port-hole, 
and  seeing  the  wild  confusion,  as  the  crew  slashed  at 
the  wreckage  aloft  while  the  schooner  heeled  over, 
cried  aloud:  "Awaie!  Awaie!  0  tellible  matagai 
(storm) !  0  Bilbalos,  saver  poor  Mango  Pango ! " 

' '  Don 't  cry,  Mango,  it 's  all  right  now, ' '  said  Hillary, 
who  had  just  crept  into  the  cuddy  from  the  deck,  for 
he  too  had  been  taking  a  hand  in  the  desperate  work 
of  that  buffeted  crew.  In  half-an-hour  every  man  on 
board  was  thanking  his  lucky  stars  that  the  Sea  Foam 
was  still  plunging  along  on  her  keel.  Her  storm-sails 
had  been  set  and  the  taut  jib-sails  were  just  keeping 
her  steady  with  head  on  to  the  seas  after  the  first  great 
onslaught  of  the  elements.  Though  the  wind  had 
blown  across  the  heavens  with  inconceivable  velocity, 
not  a  cloud  had  smudged  the  face  of  the  sky. 

An  hour  before  dawn  the  typhoon  had  quite  blown 
itself  out.  Only  the  universal  heave  and  tumble  of  the 
ocean  swell  told  of  the  tremendous  buffeting  an  hour 
before.  The  moon  was  sinking  to  the  south-west. 
Ulysses,  Hillary  and  the  melancholy  mate  stood  on  the 
poop. 

"Glad  that  blow's  over,"  said  Samuel  Bilbao,  as  the 
mate's  obsequious  voice  echoed  his  own  thankfulness. 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  203 

Then  they  all  stared  seaward,  for  the  look-out  man  on 
the  forecastle  head  roared  out:  "Land  on  the  star- 
board bow!"  That  cry  caused  tremendous  consterna- 
tion amongst  all  on  board.  It  was  evident  that  the  Sea 
Foam  had  got  many  leagues  out  of  her  course.  The 
mate  put  it  down  to  the  typhoon,  and  swore  that  it 
wasn't  the  fault  of  his  navigation.  Anyway,  Ulysses 
gave  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.  Even  Mango  Pango 
stood  amidships  on  deck  with  the  crew  as  they  all  hud- 
dled together  and  stared  at  the  foam-flecked  reefs  of 
some  strange  isle  that  loomed  up  about  a  mile  away 
to  the  south-south-west. 

"What  isle's  that,  for  God's  sake?"  said  Bilbao,  as 
he  got  his  chart  out.  For  he  had  quite  thought  that  he 
was  far  away  from  any  islands. 

"Can't  make  its  reckoning;  must  be  some  small 
island  off  the  Admiralty  Group,"  said  the  mate  in  a 
hollow  voice,  as  he  leaned  over  Bilbao 's  arm  and  stared 
at  the  chart.  Half-an-hour  after  that  all  hands  stood 
by  the  anchor,  for  the  Sea  Foam  was  plunging  dead  on 
for  the  mighty  burst  of  spray  that  rose  high  over  the 
barrier  reefs.  Then  they  once  more  stared  in  surprise, 
for  quite  visible  to  the  naked  eye  lay  the  wreck  of  a 
ship,  a  steamer,  on  the  reefs,  over  which  the  thundering 
seas  were  still  breaking.  It  was  easy  enough  to  see  that 
she  wasn't  lying  calmly  at  anchor,  because  of  the  great 
white-ridged  line  of  curling  breakers  that  rose  and 
went  right  over  her  listed  decks. 

"It's  some  tramp  steamer  run  ashore,"  said  the 
mate  in  a  hollow,  sepulchral  voice;  "  a  Dutch  or  a 
German  boat,  I  think, ' '  he  added,  as  he  looked  through 
the  telescope. 

An  hour  after  Bilbao  shouted : ' '  Stand  by !  Let  go ! " 
and  in  a  few  moments  the  Sea  Foam  swung  safely  at 


204         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

anchor  in  a  few  fathoms  of  water  to  the  north-west  of 
the  strange  isle. 

Hillary  looked  mournful  enough  as  he  thought  of 

t*e  delay.  ..;?i*J-**tti| 

"Don't  you  worry,  it's  all  right;  besides,  there's 
sure  to  be  a  dead  calm  after  that  blow  last  night,  and 
we  may  just  as  well  lie  here  as  anywhere  else,  eh?" 
said  Bilbao  as  he  rubbed  his  hands  with  delight.  For 
his  all-embracing  mind  had  already  conjured  up 
visions  of  that  wreck  being  possibly  crammed  up  to  the 
hatches  with  chests  full  of  gold  and  a  valuable  cargo 
of  pearls.  All  day  long  the  Sea  Foam  lay  off  the 
island,  as  Ulysses  stared  through  his  telescope  to  see  if 
he  could  discover  signs  of  life  on  the  derelict,  or  on  the 
island.  He  wasn't  taking  any  risks  by  going  ashore, 
or  going  on  that  wreck  before  he  was  quite  certain 
that  no  one  was  about.  He  knew  it  was  quite  possible 
that  the  original  skipper  of  the  Sea  Foam  had  been  re- 
leased from  the  calaboose  by  the  German  consulate,  and 
that  he  and  the  missing  Sea  Foam  were  already  being 
followed  up  by  the  skipper  in  another  hired  schooner. 

The  sallow  mate  clutched  Ulysses's  arm  and  nearly 
dropped  with  fear  as  he  too  looked  through  the  tele- 
scope. Then  he  wailed:  "You  know,  Captain  Bilbao, 
they  might  be  after  us  and  would  just  as  likely  be 
there  on  that  island  in  wait,  knowing  what  you  are. ' ' 

Ulysses  only  responded  by  shouting  the  irrelevant 
lines  of  some  sea-chantey.  Then  he  said,  as  he  stared 
once  more  through  the  glass:  "Must  have  all  gone 
away  in  the  ship's  boats.  There's  no  one  aboard  that 
wreck,  I'll  swear."  His  eyes  brightened  over  his 
prospects. 

Then  he  smacked  Hillary  on  the  back  and  shouted : 
"Don't  be  downhearted!  I'm  damned  if  we  haven't 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  205 

anchored  off  a  treasure-trove  wreck!  You  and  yer 
pretty  Gabrielle  will  be  able  to  keep  one  of  the  finest 
seraglios  in  the  South  Seas  if  all  goes  well. ' ' 

Hillary  couldn  't  help  smiling  at  the  big  man 's  levity 
as  he  too  looked  towards  the  derelict  and  watched  the 
grandly  picturesque  sight  of  the  curling  breakers  beat- 
ing against  the  hulk. 

Every  now  and  again,  as  dawn  stole  over  the  seas, 
they  could  hear  the  long,  low  swelling  roar  and  thun- 
der as  a  big  swell  collided  with  the  far-off  barrier  reefs. 

"PVaps  it'  s  the  Bird  of  Paradise  run  ashore,  and 
cursed  Macka's  on  that  isle  with  Gabrielle,  hidden 
in  those  palms, ' '  was  the  thought  that  struck  Hillary. 
He  was  certainly  impressionable,  and  if  there  was  a 
peculiar  construction  to  be  placed  on  a  commonplace 
incident,  Hillary  was  just  the  person  to  do  it.  Even 
he  realised  the  foolishness  of  his  thoughts,  for  the 
wreck  was  that  of  a  steamer,  not  a  sailing  ship.  Sam- 
uel Bilbao  got  terribly  impatient ;  the  long  tropic  day 
seemed  endless.  He  was  awaiting  the  friendly  dusk  of 
evening  before  he  lowered  the  boat  and  went  forth  to 
overhaul  the  wreck. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  after  sunset  a  boat  left  the  Sea 
Foam.  In  it  were  Ulysses,  the  mate,  two  sailors  and 
Hillary.  After  half-an-hour 's  hard  rowing  they  softly 
beached  on  the  silver  sand  of  the  isle,  just  where  the 
wreck  lay. 

"Salier!  A  German  steamer!"  whispered  the  mate 
in  subdued,  frightened  tone,  as  he  slowly  made  out 
the  big  black  letters  on  the  grey-painted  stern.  Then 
the  five  of  them  softly  walked  round  the  sands  on  the 
shoreward  side,  where  the  sprays  and  seas  would  no 
longer  drench  them.  All  was  perfectly  quiet  on  the 
shore;  only  the  noise  of  the  incoming  sea  swell  and 


206          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

the  soughing  of  the  high  winds  in  the  belt  of  mangoes 
and  coco-palms  disturbed  the  silence. 

The  derelict  lay  right  over,  her  deck  like  a  wooden 
wall  on  the  shoreward  side.  In  a  moment  Ulysses, 
the  mate  and  Hillary  had  clambered  over  the  reefs 
and  climbed  over  the  listed  bulwarks.  There  was 
something  uncanny  about  the  silence  of  the  mouldy- 
smelling  saloon  as  the  three  of  them  crept  into  it  and 
climbed  along  the  listed  floor.  Ulysses  went  about  his 
job  as  though  he  had  done  little  else  all  his  life  than 
search  wrecks  on  uncharted  isles  in  the  South  Seas. 
Flash!  flash!  went  his  lantern  as  he  went  down  into 
the  lazaret  hold  and  began  to  peer  into  all  the  likely 
places  for  treasure. 

" What's  that,  0  Maker  of  the  Universe?"  wailed 
the  mate,  as  he  nearly  fainted  and  fell  forward  so 
abruptly  that  he  almost  knocked  Hillary  off  his  feet. 

"What's  what?"  said  Samuel  Bilbao,  as  he  flashed 
his  lantern  in  the  direction  of  the  mate's  pointing 
finger.  ' '  Why,  it 's  a  derned  old  torn  cat ! ' '  said  Ulysses 
as  he  flashed  his  bull's-eye  lantern  on  a  monster  fluffy 
black  cat.  It  looked  at  them  all  with  its  green,  flashing 
eyes  that  had  so  frightened  the  mate  and  yawned !  It 
was  the  ship 's  cat.  There  it  lay,  as  plump  as  might  be, 
and  all  round  it  were  the  bones  of  mice  and  rats  that 
had  evidently  made  the  beast  decide  to  stop  on  its  old 
ship  in  preference  to  going  ashore  to  catch  the  fierce, 
sharp-beaked  cockatoos  that  swarmed  on  the  isle. 

As  soon  as  the  mate  had  taken  a  pull  at  his  brass 
whisky  flask  and  recovered  his  self-possession  they  con- 
tinued their  search.  Bilbao  went  down  into  the  main 
hold.  Hillary  and  the  mate  held  the  taut  rope  as  he 
swung  himself  down,  down  into  those  inky  depths. 
After  a  deal  of  hunting  and  swearing  Ulysses  yelled 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  £07 

out:  "Haul  me  up!"  In  a  few  moments  his  curly 
head  appeared  above  the  rim  of  the  hatchway.  Then 
he  uttered  a  tremendous  oath  that  harmonised  with 
the  look  of  disgust  on  his  face.  He  had  discovered  that 
someone  had  been  there  before  them  and  had  evidently 
searched  the  hulk  in  a  most  drastic  fashion,  for  they 
had  emptied  the  hold  and  had  cleared  off  almost  every 
movable  article  of  value.  All  Ulysses  managed  to  find 
was  one  case  of  Bass's  pale  ale,  a  pair  of  the  late 
skipper's  sea-boots  and  a  few  mouldy  articles  of  cloth- 
ing under  the  bunks  in  the  forecastle. 

"By  thunder,  let's  clear  out  of  this!"  said  Ulysses 
as  he  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  sallow  mate  and 
breathed  his  disappointment.  Samuel  Bilbao  had 
really  thought  that  at  last  he'd  come  across  a  prize. 
It  was  only  natural  he  should  think  that  a  ship  sailing 
across  the  South  Seas  should  have  some  kind  of  valu- 
able cargo  on  board.  So  many  times  had  he  sat  in 
grog  shanties  and  listened  to  wonderful  tales  told  by 
old  sailors  who  had  found  "treasure  troves"  lying 
about  on  the  reefs  of  uncharted  isles  of  the  South- 
ern Seas. 

"Blimey!  waiting  all  day  long  to  search  a  bloom- 
in'  wryck  hon  an  hiland,  and  only  faund  a  five-shilling 
case  of  Bass's  ale — and  sour  at  that — and  a  bob's 
worth  of  old  clothes, ' '  groaned  the  Cockney  boatswain, 
as  he  expectorated  viciously  over  the  mate's  head. 
They  were  standing  on  the  shore  again,  almost  ankle- 
deep  in  the  shining  coral  sands.  Bilbao  and  the  two 
sailors  who  had  watched  on  the  shore  while  the  search 
was  on  were  looking  up  at  the  rigging,  and  the  huge 
listed  funnel  when  they  received  a  shock. 

"God  in  heaven,  what's  that!"  said  the  mate  so 


208          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

suddenly  that  everyone  instinctively  turned  to  make 
a  bolt  from  some  unspeakable  horror. 

Even  Ulysses  looked  a  bit  startled  as  they  all  stood 
stiff,  like  chiselled  figures,  staring  inland.  There,  be- 
fore their  eyes,  not  three  hundred  yards  away,  on  a 
little  hill,  a  dark  figure  was  jumping  about,  whirling 
and  waving  its  hands. 

' '  Holy  Moses ! ' '  said  one. 

"Gawd  forgive  me  sins!"  breathed  another. 

"It's,  a  phantom  of  the  seas — a  nigger  phantom," 
wailed  the  mate. 

The  figure  was  certainly  a  dark  man,  and  perfectly 
nude;  he  was  quite  visible,  for  the  moon  was  just 
coming  up  over  the  horizon  to  the  south-west,  sending 
ghostly  fires  on  the  wreck's  broken  masts  and  torn 
rigging  and  canvas. 

' '  It 's  Macka ! — gone  mad !  He 's  got  Gabrielle  E ver- 
ard  somewhere  back  there  in  those  palms!"  gasped 
Hillary. 

"No!"  said  Samuel  Bilbao  before  he  had  recovered 
from  his  astonishment  and  realised  the  obvious  absurd- 
ity of  the  young  apprentice's  remark. 

"Why,  it's  a  maniac  Kanaka!"  said  Bilbao,  who 
had  started  coolly  to  walk  up  the  shore  so  that  he  could 
discern  the  features  of  the  leaping  figure,  that  was 
still  waving  its  hands  and  behaving  generally  like  a 
frenzied  lunatic. 

"What  the  'ell's  the  matter  with  ye?"  roared 
Bilbao. 

Still  the  figure  danced,  and  only  the  echoes  of 
Ulysses'  big  voice  and  the  screech  of  disturbed  cock- 
atoos in  the  banyans  responded. 

In  a  moment  the  dark  figure  had  bolted.  In  another 
moment  Ulysses,  Hillary,  the  boatswain  and  the  two 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  209 

sailors  had  joined  in  the  chase,  all  rushing  like  mad 
after  the  flying  figure.  Only  the  sorrowful  mate  stood 
still  on  the  sands  just  by  the  wreck,  his  loose  clothing 
flapping  over  his  shrunken  figure  as  though  he  was 
some  mysterious  scarecrow  left  there  by  the  late  crew. 

Hillary  led  the  way  in  that  chase,  Bilbao  following 
just  behind,  yelling  forth  mighty  bets  as  to  the  winner, 
his  big,  sea-booted  feet  stirring  the  silvery  sands  into 
clouds  of  moon-lit  sparkle  as  he  thundered  behind  the 
apprentice. 

"It's  Macka!  It's  Macka  Rajah!"  Bilbao  roared, 
as  he  stopped  a  second  and  held  his  stomach,  that 
heaved  with  a  mirth  which  seemed  considerably  out 
of  place  at  such  a  time.  Suddenly  the,  flying  figure 
fell  down.  The  white  men,  who  were  rushing  down 
a  steep  incline,  could  not  stay  themselves,  and  in  a 
moment  they  had  all  fallen  on  top  of  the  gasping, 
terrified  figure. 

"0  papalagi!  Talofa!  No  kille  me!  Me  nicer 
Samoan  mans.  Me  shipwreck ;  savee  mee ! ' '  yelled  the 
frightened  native,  as  he  felt  the  full  weight  of  the  white 
men  on  his  recumbent  form.  There  was  something 
so  appealing  and  sincere  in  his  voice  and  broken  Eng- 
lish that  they  all  realised  in  a  moment  that  the  poor 
devil  was  not  to  blame  for  his  lonely  position  on 
the  island. 

When  all  was  safe,  and  they  had  led  the  trembling 
Samoan  castaway  back  to  the  sands,  the  chief  mate 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  and  gave  the  poor  castaway 
a  drink  from  his  whisky  flask. 

It  turned  out  that  he  was  a  Samoan  sailor,  one  of 
the  crew  of  the  wreck  that  lay  on  the  reefs.  She  had 
left  Apia  about  six  months  before,  bound  for  the  Bis- 
marck Archipelago,  and  had  run  ashore  in  a  typhoon. 

14 


210          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

The  German  crew  had  taken  to  the  boats  whilst  the 
Samoan  sailor  had  lain  ill  under  the  palms  (just  like 
Germans).  And  so  he  had  awakened  to  find  himself 
alone  on  the  island. 

"Where's  all  the  cargo,  and  the  skipper's  prop- 
erty?" said  Bilbao,  as  a  great  hope  sprang  up  in  his 
breast,  for  he  thought  that  perhaps  the  native  had 
taken  them  off  the  wreck  and  hidden  them  on  the 
island.  Then  the  native  told  them  that  about  two 
moons  after  the  wreck  had  been  lying  on  the  shore  a 
fleet  of  canoes  sighted  her  and  came  out  of  their  course 
to  the  islands. 

"They  came  one  day,  again  next  days  and  next 
days,  for  a  longer  times, ' '  said  the  castaway. 

It  appeared  that  Tampo,  the  Samoan,  for  that  was 
his  name,  was  too  frightened  to  show  himself  to  the 
Malabar  natives,  who  toiled  from  sunrise  to  sunset  in 
robbing  the  wreck  of  her  cargo.  The  poor  native  well 
knew  that  many  of  the  natives  of  the  isles  in  the  coral 
seas  were  inveterate  cannibals.  And  he  didn't  feel 
inclined  to  take  any  risk  of  being  cooked  and  eaten. 
He  preferred  to  hide  in  the  tropical  growth  till  a  white 
man's  ship  sighted  him  or  the  wreck.  And  certainly 
he  was  wise  in  taking  this  course. 

The  castaway  was  delighted  when  Ulysses  said: 
' '  Come  along,  old  Talof  a,  get  yer  traps  together,  pack 
yer  fig-leaf  up  and  come  aboard. ' ' 

A  few  minutes  after  that  the  lonely  isle  was  once 
more  uninhabited.  There  was  no  trace  of  humanity 
excepting  the  wreck  on  the  shore.  And  long  before 
dawn  flushed  the  east  with  its  silver  radiance  the  Sea 
Foam  was  flying  with  all  possible  sail  set  for  the  coast 
of  New  Guinea. 

"It  wasn't  old  Macka  Rajah  gone  mad  after  all,'' 


THE  WINE-DARK  SEAS  211 

said  Bilbao  to  Hillary,  as  the  apprentice  stood  dream- 
ing on  the  deck  in  the  morning. 

"It  wasn't  a  treasure  trove  on  the  reefs,  crammed 
up  to  the  hatchway  with  chests  of  golden  doubloons 
and  pieces  of  eight,"  Hillary  retorted  quietly.  Even 
Mango  Pango,  that  rival  of  how  many  sad  heathen 
Penelopes,  revealed  her  pearly  teeth  when  she  under- 
stood the  meaning  of  Hillary's  sally. 

Samuel  Bilbao  only  laughed,  then  said:  "Boy,  we're 
only  about  three  or  four  days '  sail  from  the  coastal  vil- 
lage where  your  Rajah  Macka  has  bolted. " 

"Only  three  or  four  days  before  I  know!  Only 
three  or  four  days  before  I  see  Gabrielle,  and  find  out 
— what?"  were  some  of  the  thoughts  that  flashed 
through  Hillary's  brain  as  Bilbao  made  that  momen- 
tous announcement.  And  it  was  true  enough :  the  Sea 
Foam  was  slowly  but  surely  nearing  the  god-forsaken 
barbarian  forest  coast  of  the  land  where  the  ex-mis- 
sionary and  kidnapper  was  supposed  to  have  taken 
Gabrielle  Everard. 


CHAPTER  XI 
KIDNAPPED 

ON  the  night  when  Rajah  Koo  Macka  sat  in  old 
Everard's  bungalow  parlour  and  successfully 
threw  dust  in  the  ex-sailor's  eyes  and  opium 
and  rum  in  Gabrielle's  tea,  the  Papuan  half-caste's 
ship  lay  out  in  the  bay  of  Bougainville,  ready  to  sail 
at  a  moment's  notice. 

It  may  be  difficult  to  believe  that  a  white  girl  could 
be  successfully  kidnapped  from  her  father's  home- 
stead, carried  half-a-mile  across  thick  jungle  to  the 
shore,  thrown  into  a  boat  and  rowed  out  to  a  ship  that 
was  ready  to  carry  her  off  to  New  Guinea ;  but  however 
incredible  it  may  seem,  that's  exactly  what  did  hap- 
pen. And  this  business  was  accomplished  by  swarthy 
half-caste  sailors  who  were  experts  at  the  kidnapping 
game.  These  kidnappers  were  men  who  had  devoted 
their  lives  to  stealing  and  enticing  ignorant  native 
girls,  youths,  children  and  native  men  from  the  Solo- 
mon Isles  and  elsewhere  by  hundreds,  nay,  thousands, 
carrying  the  boys  and  men  off  to  be  sold  as  cheap 
plantation  labour,  and  the  girls  for  the  seraglios  of 
heathen  chiefs  (and  sometimes  seraglios  of  white  men) 
in  remote  isles  of  the  North  and  South  Pacific.  And 
it  was  easy  enough  to  carry  on  the  slave  trade  in  those 
parts,  for  the  German  officials  of  Bougainville  cared 
little  for  their  prestige  so  long  as  they  received  a  suf- 
ficiently large  bribe  from  the  slave  skippers  who 
prowled  along  the  coasts  of  Bougainville  and  Gualda- 
canar,  etc.  The  old  white-whiskered  German  mission- 
ary round  at  B made  a  tremendous  fuss  about  the 

212 


KIDNAPPED  213 

depredations  of  the  tribal  head-hunters  who  went  off 
to  the  mountain  villages  to  secure  their  terrible 
trophies,  but  the  depredations  of  the  kidnapping  thugs, 
as  they  crept  ashore  and  stole  girls  and  youths  from 
the  villages,  were  broadly  winked  at. 

And  these  remarks  do  not  apply  only  to  the  Solomon 
Group,  but  also  to  islands  as  civilised  as  Samoa  and 
Fiji.  So  Rajah  Koo  Macka  and  his  type  calmly  car- 
ried on  their  hideous  traffic  almost  in  broad  daylight. 
But  still  the  Rajah,  on  the  present  occasion,  felt  that 
it  would  be  a  bit  too  risky  to  attempt  to  kidnap  Gabri- 
elle  while  the  sun  was  up,  since  she  was  a  sacred  white 
maid.  Old  Everard  was  therefore  honoured  by  that 
last  visit  from  him  under  cover  of  night.  For  the 
Rajah  was  an  experienced  hand  at  the  game.  He  had 
prowled  round  the  isles  of  the  Pacific  from  the  Coral 
Sea  to  the  tropic  of  Capricorn  for  years  looking  for 
good-looking  native  girls  and  men  who  would  make 
profitable  merchandise,  and  so  had  had  many  narrow 
squeaks,  although  he  always  carried  a  large  assortment 
of  religious  tracts  about  with  him  to  allay  suspicion. 
One  may  easily  imagine,  therefore,  that  the  Rajah 
did  not  look  upon  the  kidnapping  of  a  white  girl  as 
something  very  much  outside  the  ordinary  routine  of 
his  profession.  Indeed,  he  well  knew  that  white  men 
by  scores  indulged  in  the  blackbirding  trade,  sailing 
under  the  slave  flag  as  they  too  prowled  the  Southern 
Seas  kidnapping  people  of  his  race.  And  so,  as  far  as 
the  actual  kidnapping  of  a  white  girl  is  concerned,  he 
was  only  doing  what  the  white  men  did  themselves. 

When  at  last  old  Everard  lay  in  drunken  insensibil- 
ity on  his  settee  the  Rajah  was  master  of  the  situation. 
His  hired  kidnappers  were  within  call. 


214          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

In  the  little  that  he  had  seen  of  Gabrielle  he  had 
realised  perfectly  that  his  old  game  of  impassioned 
looks  and  hypocritical  phrases  were  utterly  useless 
where  she  was  concerned.  He  soon  realised  that  it 
was  one  thing  to  succeed  in  making  a  white  girl  fascin- 
ated by  his  handsome  presence,  but  quite  another  to 
make  her  cast  aside  the  elementary  principles  of  her 
race.  And  so  he  had  formulated  his  plans. 

All  that  evening,  while  old  Everard  had  been  sitting 
in  his  arm-chair  listening  to  the  Papuan  Rajah's 
sombre  denunciations  of  his  sinful  habits,  and  Gabri- 
elle stared  at  his  swarthy,  handsome  face,  fascinated 
by  its  assumed  noble  expression,  three  stalwart  Kan- 
akas squatted  patiently,  as  they  smoked,  not  twenty 
yards  from  Everard 's  bungalow.  They  were  the  forc- 
ible part  of  the  Rajah's  go-ashore  retinue,  all  muscular 
men.  And  as  they  sat  there  they  wondered  how  much 
longer  the  Rajah  was  going  to  keep  them  waiting 
for  one  cursed  Christian  white  girl,  when  they  had 
kidnapped  hundreds  of  native  girls  and  strong  men 
in  half  the  time.  But  their  patience,  that  greatest 
of  virtues,  was  at  last  rewarded.  First  the  solitary 
heathen  kidnapping  thugs  saw  shadows  slip  across  the 
dim-lit  bungalow  window.  "Ugh!  Me  savoo!"  said 
the  big  man  of  giant  mirth,  as  he  got  his  strangling 
rope  ready  in  case  the  expected  victim  was  obstrep- 
erous. As  the  three  thugs  got  ready  for  the  fray  the 
first  act  of  the  wicked  drama  was  in  full  progress  in- 
side the  parlour.  Gabrielle  was  already  swaying  and 
clutching  at  the  air  as  she  felt  the  influence  of  some 
terrible  sleep  creeping  over  her.  She  fell  towards  the 
window  and  clutched  at  the  curtains  in  her  endeavour 
to  awaken  her  father.  But  it  was  too  late !  The  old 
ex-sailor  only  smiled  in  his  sleep;  but  he  must  have 


KIDNAPPED  £15 

heard  the  terrified  cry  of  ' '  Father !  Father ! ' '  since  he 
muttered  "Gabby,  go  ter  sleep!"  And  she  did  go 
to  sleep ! 

The  Rajah  had  fixed  things  up  in  no  time  and  then 
appeared  outside  the  bungalow  with  the  unconscious 
girl  in  his  arms.  As  he  laid  her  gently  down  beneath 
the  palms,  the  kidnappers  crept  out  of  the  jungle 
thickets,  stretched  out  their  neat  little  rope  ambulance 
(always  carried  for  intractable  patients)  and  bundled 
Gabrielle  into  its  folds. 

While  this  was  going  on  Gob,  a  dwarf,  kept  watch, 
and  Rajah  Macka  kept  his  eyes  on  his  Papuan  retinue. 
They  were  men  of  his  own  race,  and  he  knew  their  vile 
instincts,  for  was  he  not  one  of  them?  And  so  he 
took  good  care  not  to  let  the  girl  out  of  his  sight. 
When  all  was  settled,  and  Gabrielle  lay  insensible, 
secure  in  the  thug-ambulance,  they  lifted  her  carefully 
and  hurried  across  the  slopes,  passing  by  the  lagoon 
where  she  and  Hillary  had  embarked  in  the  canoe 
to  go  out  to  the  three-masted  derelict.  It  was  on  that 
very  night  that  Hillary  and  Gabrielle  were  to  meet 
each  other,  and  the  apprentice  had  kept  the  appoint- 
ment, only  to  wait  in  vain  for  the  girl's  appearance. 
But  had  he  not  in  his  usual  impatience,  walked  a  mile 
up  the  shore  away  from  the  trysting-place  he  could  not 
have  failed  to  see  the  kidnappers  pass  and  so  might 
have  saved  Gabrielle  in  a  most  dramatic  fashion. 

When  Macka  and  his  crew  arrived  on  the  shore  they 
flung  the  girl  into  the  waiting  boat,  and  in  less  than  an 
hour  Gabrielle  was  a  prisoner  on  board  the  Bird  of 
Paradise. 

Not  even  the  violent  bump  of  the  boat  against  the 
vessel's  side  disturbed  Gabrielle  ere  they  carried  her 
helpless  form  up  the  rope  gangway  and  on  to  the 


216          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

deck  of  the  Rajah's  ship.  When  she  awoke,  that  same 
night,  she  could  hardly  believe  her  senses.  She  looked 
across  the  gloomy,  dim -lit  room  and  thought  she'd 
overslept  herself.  She  fancied  she  had  fallen  asleep 
in  her  father's  parlour,  for  there  was  the  settee  in  the 
corner — but  why  was  he  not  on  the  settee  ?  She  noticed 
that  it  was  still  dark,  only  a  dim  oil-lamp  burning, 
hanging  strangely,  it  seemed,  from  the  ceiling  when 
it  should  have  been  standing  on  the  table. 

She  rubbed  her  eyes  and  stared  once  more.  Her 
bed  seemed  to  move.  What  did  it  all  mean?  The 
settee  was  lined  with  blue  plush ;  it  should  really  have 
been  a  very  shabby  brown.  She  jumped  to  her  feet 
and  gave  a  scream  as  she  spied  the  little  port-holes  on 
the  starboard  side  just  opposite  her — she  had  realised 
the  truth,  that  she  was  in  the  cuddy  (saloon)  of  some 
vessel  that  was  rolling  along  away  at  sea ! 

"Don't,  Gabriel-ar-le,  solawa  soo !"  said  a  voice  very 
softly. 

It  was  the  skipper  of  the  Bird  of  Paradise — Rajah 
Koo  Macka.  He  had  been  asleep  in  the  cabin  just 
near  and  had  leapt  from  his  bunk  at  hearing  Gabri- 
elle's  frightened  scream. 

"Where  am  I?  Oh  dear!  Save  me!  What's  it  all 
mean  ? ' '  Even  Gabrielle  laid  her  hand  on  her  flutter- 
ing heart  as  she  muttered  those  words  in  a  weak  voice 
at  finding  herself  out  at  sea  in  a  ship 's  cuddy  instead 
of  in  the  security  of  her  home. 

There  was  an  intense  note  of  appeal  in  the  girl's 
voice,  such  a  note  as  would  have  touched  the  heart  of 
the  vilest  of  men,  but  Macka  never  moved  a  muscle. 
He  had  stolen  so  many  girls,  men  and  youths,  watched 
their  tears,  heard  their  heartrending  appeals,  and 
thrown  their  bodies  over  the  vessel's  side  when  they 


KIDNAPPED  217 

had  died  of  terror  and  malaria  down  in  the  stinking, 
hot-fevered  hold,  that  it  seemed  nothing  awful  to  him 
to  see  a  girl  kneel  before  him  and  weep. 

He  was  overjoyed  that  the  girl  was  awake.  He  had 
quite  thought  that  she  had  been  doped  too  much  and 
that  there  was  a  possibility  of  her  never  recovering 
sensibility  again.  As  she  stood  before  him,  with  the 
oil  lamp  swinging  to  and  fro  to  the  heave  and  roll 
of  the  flying  ship,  Gabrielle's  eyes,  which  had  been 
agleam  with  fright,  suddenly  changed,  and  shone  with 
a  new  strength.  She  had  realised,  with  a  woman's  un- 
erring instinct,  the  uselessness  of  appealing  to  the  man 
before  her.  As  she  steadily  returned  his  gaze,  the  dark 
man  saw  the  courage  of  her  father's  race. 

A  cowed  look  leapt  into  his  face.  Even  in  that  swift 
glance  he  had  realised  that  all  would  not  go  as  smoothly 
as  he  had  antcipated.  To  steal  helpless  Papuans, 
Samoans,  Marquesans,  Tahitian  maids,  to  defile  them, 
pitch  them  overboard  when  they  were  dead  or  dying, 
and  amuse  himself  by  revolver  shots  at  the  poor,  float- 
ing, bobbing  bodies  was  one  thing ;  but  to  steal  a  white 
girl  and  defile  her  was  quite  another.  That  much  he 
realised  most  forcibly,  for  before  he  could  realise  any- 
thing more  than  that  Gabrielle  had  rushed  out  of  the 
cabin  and  bolted. 

She  raced  along  the  ship 's  rolling  deck.  She  looked 
about  her  and  called  loudly  in  the  dark,  still  hoping 
that  one  of  the  crew  might  be  a  white  man.  When 
she  saw  the  fierce,  mop-headed,  dark-faced  men  rush 
out  of  the  forecastle  at  hearing  her  terrified  screams 
she  almost  collapsed  in  her  despair.  For  one  moment 
she  stood  still  and  gazed  up  at  the  bellying  sails  as 
they  swayed  along  beneath  the  high  moon.  Nothing 
but  the  illimitable  sky-lines  gleamed  around  her. 


218          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

She  heard  the  moan  of  the  dark  tossing  ocean.  She 
did  not  hesitate,  not  the  slightest  indecision  preceded 
her  act — splash!  she  had  leapt  overboard!  It  all 
happened  in  a  few  seconds.  The  Rajah  and  the 
mulatto  mate  at  once  gave  orders  for  the  crew  to  heave 
to  and  lower  a  boat.  It  seemed  ages  to  the  Rajah 
as  the  swarthy  crew  climbed  slowly  about  like  dusky 
ghosts,  as  though  they  had  a  century  in  which  to  fulfil 
his  orders.  At  this  moment  the  captain  of  the  black- 
birder  (to  give  him  his  correct  title)  revealed  his  soli- 
tary virtue;  he  could  see  the  girl's  struggling  form  in 
the  dark  waters  astern.  Not  a  sound  came  from  the 
girl's  lips,  only  the  tossing  white  hands  were  visible  on 
the  moon-lit  waters — then  they  vanished — she  had 
gone !  In  a  second  he  had  pulled  off  his  coat  and  boots 
and  plunged  into  the  sea.  The  men  of  his  race  could 
swim  like  fish,  and  dive  too,  for  they  took  to  the  water 
before  they  could  toddle.  Even  as  it  was,  the  Rajah 
had  to  dive  twice  before  he  could  grip  hold  of  Ever- 
ard's  daughter.  He  had  a  tremendous  struggle  to 
get  the  girl  back  on  board,  for  the  sea  was  a  bit  heavy 
that  night.  When  he  did  get  her  on  deck  the  half- 
caste  mate  and  the  crew  stared  on  her  prostrate  figure 
in  astonishment.  She  had  been  kept  from  their  sight 
till  then. 

Lying  there  on  the  hatchway,  her  white  face  turned 
towards  the  sky,  she  looked  like  some  angel  who  had 
mysteriously  fallen  from  heaven  and  lay  dead  before 
them.  They  were  a  superstitious  lot,  and  several  of 
them  began  to  moan  some  heathen  death  chant.  Even 
the  Rajah  was  strangely  influenced  at  seeing  that 
pallid  face,  the  drenched,  dishevelled  hair,  the  curved, 
pale  lips.  The  bluish  tropical  moonlight  bathed  her 
form  like  a  wonderful  halo.  He  looked  at  the  watch- 
ing crew,  a  fierce  light  in  his  eyes.  In  a  moment  they 


KIDNAPPED  219 

had  all  gone,  slinking  away.  "Awaie!"  he  said  to 
one  who,  bolder  than  the  rest,  looked  back  over  his 
shoulder.  And  then,  as  the  crew  obeyed  the  mulatto 
mate's  orders  to  get  the  vessel  under  way  once  more, 
the  Rajah  lifted  Gabrielle's  prostrate  form  and  carry- 
ing her  into  the  cuddy  laid  her  down  on  the  low  saloon 
table.  Grabbing  a  decanter,  he  poured  a  small  drop 
of  spirit  between  her  lips.  Then  he  closed  the  door  so 
softly  that  only  the  sudden  disappearance  of  the  stream 
of  light  on  the  deck  from  the  lamp  inside  told  that  the 
door  had  been  closed. 

They  were  alone,  he  and  she — the  frail,  helpless  girl 
in  the  vile  power  of  passion  and  hypocrisy.  For  a 
second  the  Papuan  Rajah  gazed  around  the  saloon. 
Even  he  was  startled  by  the  look  on  the  swarthy  face 
that  gazed  back  on  him  from  the  long  mirror — his 
own  reflection.  Stooping  over  the  recumbent  form,  he 
gently  rubbed  her  hands.  They  were  cold  and  very 
limp.  He  began  to  think  that  it  was  too  late,  that 
she  was  dead.  Gently  pulling  the  wet  bodice  open,  he 
slowly  unfastened  the  blue  strings  of  her  nindercloth- 
ing.  He  gazed  in  silence  on  the  curves  of  her  breasts, 
which  were  faintly  revealed  to  his  eyes  by  the  dim, 
swaying  oil  lamp.  That  fragile  whiteness  seemed  to 
appeal  even  to  him ;  the  mute  lips,  the  closed  eyelids, 
the  helpless  attitude  paralysed  the  dark  cruelty  of  his 
natural  self.  And  it  is  only,  we  must  think,  because 
God  made  all  men,  be  they  black  or  white,  that  he  was 
loyal  to  the  great  trust  that  the  irony  of  inscrutable 
Fate  had  placed  in  his  hands — he  of  all  men  on  earth. 

The  seas  were  beating  against  the  vessel's  side  as 
she  lay  there.  The  vessel  pitched  and  rolled  as  once 
more  it  started  on  its  course,  and  as  it  rolled  the  girl 's 
recumbent  form  moved  and  swayed  to  the  lurch  of  the 


220          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

table.  Her  drenched  bronze-gold  hair  fell  in  a  mass  to 
the  cuddy  floor,  the  brown-stockinged  ankles  fully  re- 
vealed through  the  disarrangement  of  the  soaking  skirt. 

Could  anyone;  have  peeped  from  the  deck  through 
the  cuddy  port-hole  they  would  have  seen  the  Rajah 
bending  over  the  helpless  girl.  A  strange  fire  flashed 
in  his  eyes  as  he  gazed  and  gazed  and  gently  rubbed 
where  her  heart  lay.  The  gleam  in  his  eyes  died  away, 
but  still  he  watched,  waiting  anxiously.  His  face  was 
set  and  wild  looking.  ' '  Ar-a  va  loo ! "  ( "  She 's  gone ! ") 
he  muttered.  He  tried  to  feel  the  pulse  of  the  wrist, 
but  he  dropped  it  with  a  sigh.  At  last  it  came !  His 
hand  visibly  trembled  as  he  lifted  her  arms  up  and 
gently  spread  them  away  from  her  body.  Then  he 
put  his  ear  to  her  heart  and  listened— there  was  a 
sound  like  a  tiny  echo  coming  from  the  remotest  dis- 
tance. Throb!  throb!  it  came — Gabrielle's  soul  was 
hovering  between  heaven  and  earth — in  more  senses 
than  one.  Then  the  throb  ceased  as  though  for  an 
eternity  of  time,  but  once  more  it  came — throb !  throb ! 
throb!  And  before  the  Rajah  was  prepared  for  it 
Gabrielle  's  eyes  were  staring  at  him ! 

Instinctly  the  girl's  helpless  fingers  half  clutched 
the  wet  fringe  of  her  loosened  bodice.  And,  strange  as 
is  may  seem,  the  heathen  Papuan  even  helped  her  cold 
fingers  to  close  the  delicate  folds. 

The  instinctive  action  of  the  girl  told  him  more 
of  her  true  character  than  a  thousand  dissertations  on 
racial  codes,  morals  and  inherent  virtue  could  have 
done.  In  a  flash  he  had  realised  that  if  he  wanted  to 
gain  her  respect  it  had  to  be  gained  by  astute  cunning 
based  on  strict  emotional  principles.  Recovering  his 
embarrassment,  he  rolled  his  eyes  and  blinked — which 
is  the  equivalent  of  a  blush  in  New  Guinea  folk.  He 


KIDNAPPED  221 

was  really  pleased  to  see  that  she  was  recovering.  Im- 
mediately flinging  himself  on  his  knees,  he  sobbed  out : 
"Oh  Gabriel-ar-le,  Marsoo  cowan,  nicer  beauty 
voumna!"  In  his  excitement  he  had  lapsed  into 
execrable  pidgin-English.  He  heard  her  sigh.  He  fon- 
dled her  hand.  "  Tis  I  who  saved  you, "  he  murmured. 
He  fancied  that  he  was  a  hero.  In  his  perverted 
ignorance  he  saw  Gabrielle  no  longer  a  kidnapped 
girl  on  his  ship,  but  a  maiden  whom  he  had  saved  from 
the  cruel  seas.  He  was  bold  enough  to  press  her  hand 
to  his  lips. 

Gabrielle  watched  him.  She  was  terribly  ill,  too 
dazed  to  protest.  She  was  alone  on  the  seas  with  this 
man  and  what  could  she  do?  Her  final  response  to 
his  miserable  hypocrisy  was  to  burst  into  a  violent  fit 
of  weeping. 

For  three  or  four  days  she  was  quite  unable  to  move. 
It  was  only  through  the  careful  nursing  of  the  Malayan 
cabin-boy,  a  frizzly  headed,  bright-eyed  little  fellow, 
that  she  was  at  last  encouraged  to  take  food.  He  was 
a  child,  and  so  he  appealed  to  Gabrielle.  The  very 
innocence  of  his  eyes  as  he  stared  in  delightful  curios- 
ity at  her  golden  hair  and  white  arms  when  he  crept  in 
with  the  food  to  her  bunk  cheered  her  as  much  as  she 
could  be  cheered  under  such  circumstances. 

Sometimes  she  would  lie  there  helpless  and  think 
that  she  was  mad,  strange  fancies  floating  through  her 
brain.  And  sometimes  Macka  would  step  softly  into 
the  dingy  saloon  and  play  on  the  melancholy  organ  that 
he  had  once  used  in  his  tribal  mission-rooms.  His 
voice  would  tremble  with  passionate  appeal  and  subtle 
seductiveness  as  he  breathed  forth  Malayan  melodies 
that  haunted  Gabrielle 's  ears.  Those  melodies  had 
a  terrible  influence  over  the  girl,  and  one  night  when 


222          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

the  vessel  was  rolling  wildly,  being  buffeted  along 
before  a  typhoon,  the  girl  screamed  out  from  her  bunk : 
"Stop!  Stop!  I'll  go  mad  if  you  sing  that  strange 
thing  again!", 

Then  the  Rajah  ceased  as  obediently  as  a  scolded 
child  and  softly  crept  away.  He  knew  the  potent 
magic  of  those  heathen  Malayan  melodies !  He  knew ! 
He  knew!  And  when  he  had  passed  out  on  to  the 
vessel's  deck  Gabrielle  called  out:  "Tombo!  Tombo!" 
In  a  moment  the  little  Papuan  boy  rushed  into  her 

"Whater  you  wanter?  Whater  matter,  nicer 
vovams?" 

"Tombo,  what's  that  shadow-thing  that  runs  about 
the  deck  at  night?  I  saw  it  through  the  port-hole 
last  night. ' '  Then  she  said :  ' '  And  I  heard  faint  cries, 
wails.  What  was  it?  What  does  it  all  mean, 
Tombo?" 

Tombo  made  no  reply  with  his  lips,  but  he  softly 
^nestled  up  against  the  girl  and  looked  up  into  her 
eyes  with  terrible  earnestness.  Then  he  shook  his  head 
and  said:  "I  looker  after  you,  Misser  Gaberlelle. " 
Suddenly  the  boy  rushed  from  the  girl's  side  and  out 
of  the  cuddy  in  fright. 

Gabrielle  listened  and  heard  a  scream:  the  Rajah 
had  called  the  boy  and,  meeting  him  on  the  deck,  had 
kicked  him.  The  Papuan  skipper  had  noticed  that 
the  kid  was  a  bit  too  communicative  with  his  kid- 
napped prisoner.  Possibly  he  thought  that  the  boy 
might  let  out  the  truth  about  the  ship  and  give  Gabri- 
elle some  hint  as  to  why  it  sailed  by  night  with  all 
lights  out,  as  it  tacked  on  its  course  far  off  the  beaten 
track  of  trading  ships. 

It  was  quite  a  week  before  Gabrielle  ventured  out 


KIDNAPPED  223 

of  the  small  cuddy's  berth  and  entered  the  saloon. 
Even  when  she  did  so  she  was  apparently  so  weak  that 
she  was  obliged  to  secure  the  assistance  of  little  Tombo, 
who  held  her  hand  as  she  wandered  about.  The  Rajah 
immediately  began  his  sinuous  overtures  and  muttered 
violent  protestations  of  love  into  her  ears.  At  times 
the  Papuan  could  hardly  conceal  his  temper  when  the 
girl  persistently  pestered  him  with  questions,  asking 
him  where  the  Bird  of  Paradise  was  bound  for. 

"You  noa  worry,  You  are  all  right.  I  take  you 
across  the  seas  and  some  days  you  go  back  to  your 
peoples — when  you  lover  me!"  he  would  say,  as  he 
gave  a  look  of  deep  meaning  that  the  girl  persistently 
pretended  not  to  understand.  He  would  not  allow 
her  to  wralk  out  on  deck  unless  he  were  close  by.  His 
hungry  eyes  seemed  ever  on  the  alert.  Probably  he 
had  a  fixed  idea  in  his  brain  that  the  girl  would  make 
another  attempt  to  take  her  life.  And  still  he  swore 
most  earnestly  by  the  virtue  of  the  Christian  apostles 
that  he  had  only  kidnapped  her  from  her  father's 
homestead  because  of  his  overpowering  love  for  her. 

"You  know  not  what  men  of  my  race  love  like, 
what  we  would  do  for  a  white  girl  such  as  you,  Gabri- 
ar-le,"  he  muttered,  as  he  glanced  sideways  at  her. 

Gabrielle  saw  the  look  in  those  flashing  eyes  of  his. 
She  trembled  as  she  realised  how  completely  she  was 
in,  his  power,  and  how  once  she  had  been  fascinated 
by  his  voice  and  his  handsome  mien.  Even  then,  at 
times,  she  half  believed  that  he  had  repented  the  wrong 
he  had  done  her.  And  the  girl  was  hardly  to  blame 
for  her  credulity,  for  he  never  tired  of  pouring  his 
flamboyant  rhetoric  in  Malayan  vers  libre  into  her  ears. 
He  had  some  mighty  faith  in  his  maudlin  Mohamme- 
danistic  babblings  over  love,  winds,  seas,  stars,  night. 


224          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

God  and  death.  He  was  as  crammed  with  pretended 
artlessness  as  he  was  of  villainy. 

Sometimes  the  girl  felt  strangely  calm.  The  reli- 
gious element  that  brings  faith  and  comfort  to  men 
and  women  in  the  direst  moments  of  life  was  part  of 
her  special  birthright.  She  became  more  resigned  to 
her  lot  and  even  went  so  far  as  to  read  some  of  the  old 
books  that  she  had  discovered  in  the  cuddy  locker. 
So  did  she  endeavour  to  stifle  her  thoughts.  Many, 
many  times  she  thought  of  the  apprentice.  What 
did  he  think  of  her  sudden  absence  from  Bougainville, 
of  her  not  turning  up  at  the  trysting-place  by  the 
lagoon?  She  thought  of  his  impulsive  nature.  She 
guessed  that  he  must  have  gone  straight  to  her  home 
to  see  what  had  become  of  her.  She  thought  of  a 
thousand  things  that  he  would  do  in  his  attempt  to 
discover  her  whereabouts.  She  imagined  how  her 
father  raved,  and  must  still  be  raving,  perhaps  griev- 
ing over  her  disappearance.  But  she  never  dreamed  of 
all  that  really  happened  after  she  had  left  Bougain- 
ville in  the  blackbirding  ship.  When  she  recalled  the 
incidents  of  the  old  derelict  lying  on  the  rocks  off 
Bougainville  and  of  Hillary's  boyish  but  earnest  de- 
claration of  love  she  trembled  in  her  anguish.  She 
remembered  the  look  in  his  eyes,  the  wild,  fond  sayings 
that  had  come  spontaneously  to  his  lips.  Then  she 
laid  her  head  down  on  the  cuddy  table  and  wept 
bitterly. 

One  night  when  the  Bird  of  Paradise  had  been  at 
sea  about  two  weeks  the  heat  was  so  terrific  that  she 
implored  the  Kajah  to  let  her  sit  out  on  deck.  He 
was  obdurate  and  would  not  hear  of  such  a  thing. 
"No,  no,  putih  bunga  (white  flower)"  was  his  only 
reply,  as  he  lapsed  into  the  Malayan  tongue,  speaking 


KIDNAPPED  225 

as  though  to  himself.  Then  he  walked  away  and  dis- 
appeared forward.  In  a  moment  Gabrielle  made  up 
her  mind  and  had  slipped  out  of  the  cuddy,  determined 
to  go  on  deck  and  breathe  the  cool  night  air.  She 
almost  cried  out  as  she  rushed,  plomp !  into  the  arms 
of  the  half-caste  mate.  ' '  Savo,  maro,  Cowan,  bunga, ' ' 
whispered  the  burly  mulatto,  as  he  lost  his  mental 
balance  at  seeing  the  beauty  of  the  girl.  He  caught 
her  in  his  arms,  clutched  her  flesh  like  some  fierce 
animal,  put  his  vile  lips  to  her  white  throat  and 
breathed  hotly  on  her  face.  He  tried  to  press  his 
blubbery  lips  against  her  own.  In  a  moment  the  girl 
had  managed  to  release  herself  from  that  hateful  clasp. 

"What's  the  matter,  my  pretty  putih  bunga,  marva 
awaya?"  said  Koo  Macka,  suddenly  coming  up,  as 
the  mulatto  mate  slipped  hastily  along  the  deck  out 
of  sight. 

"Nothing  is  the  matter;  I  simply  felt  ill,  faint;  I'm 
better  now,"  said  Gabrielle  fearfully,  as  she  swiftly 
realised  that  it  would  not  do  to  make  an  enemy  of  the 
mulatto  mate.  For  a  moment  the  Rajah  looked  sus- 
piciously around  him,  then  he  sternly  ordered  her  to 
go  back  at  once  into  the  saloon. 

And  so  it  was  that  Gabrielle  sat  in  her  bunk  that 
night  and  stared  through  the  port-hole  so  that  she 
might  get  a  breath  of  the  cool  midnight  breeze  that 
drifted  at  intervals  across  the  hot  tropic  seas. 

The  stars  were  shining  in  their  thousands  as  she 
sat  there  watching  and  crying  softly  to  herself.  She 
could  plainly  see  the  bluish,  ghost-like  gleam  of  the 
horizon,  far  away,  as  she  stared  out  of  the  cabin  port- 
hole. It  was  then  that  she  once  more  heard  a  mys- 
terious wail  coming  from  somewhere  out  in  the  silence 
of  the  night.  Her  lips  went  dry  with  fright  as  she 

15 


226          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

gazed  and  listened  in  her  terror.  She  distinctly  ob- 
served a  shadow  slip  across  the  deck.  Then  the  wail 
came  again  and  was  followed  by  a  deep,  retching 
moaning  and  sounds  of  the  hushed  voices  of  men  who 
were  speaking  in  a  strange  language.  ''What  does  it 
all  mean?"  she  muttered  to  herself,  as  once  more  her 
ears  caught  the  indistinct  utterances  of  agony.  And 
still  she  listened  and  felt  quite  sure  that  what  she 
heard  was  no  trick  of  her  imagination,  but  was  some 
last  appeal  of  helplessness  to  relentless  men  ere  they 
strangled  their  victim.  In  the  terror  of  all  that  she 
felt  her  overwrought  brain  became  strangely  calm. 
She  sat  quite  still  and  watched  in  a  dazed  way,  crouch- 
ing in  her  bunk,  her  eyes  peering  through  the  port- 
hole. She  gazed  up  at  the  swaying  sails  as  they  glided 
on  beneath  the  stars.  The  wind  had  shifted  to  the 
south-west,  for  she  saw  the  canvas  veer  and  darken 
patches  of  starry  sky  as  the  yards  went  round  and  the 
crew  aloft  chanted  some  Malayan  chantey.  So  weirdly 
bright  was  the  tropic  sky  that  the  rigging  and  the 
forms  of  the  toiling  crew  were  distinctly  outlined  with 
the  decks,  sails,  spars.  She  could  even  discern  the 
long  cracks  of  the  deck  planks  as  the  ethereal  light  of 
far-off  worlds  pulsed  in  the  sky  and  sent  a  glimmer 
down  between  the  masts  and  sails.  A  fearful  curiosity 
overcame  the  fright  she  first  felt  as  she  saw  three 
stalwart,  mop-headed  men  standing  by  the  lifted 
hatchway  amidships.  The  scene  was  directly  along 
the  deck  facing  the  cuddy 's  cabin  port-hole  from  which 
she  stared.  The  sight  that  met  her  astonished  eyes 
made  her  tremble :  the  three  swarthy,  demon-like  men 
were  grabbing  the  bodies  of  the  dead  which  were  being 
passed  up  from  the  vessel 's  fetid  hold !  Some  of  the 
crew  were  down  below  busily  pushing  those  limp, 


KIDNAPPED  227 

pathetic  figures  up  to  the  outstretched  hands  of  those 
on  deck.  Gabrielle  knew  they  were  dead  bodies,  there 
was  no  mistaking  their  limpness  as  the  heads  of  the 
silent  forms  fell  first  in  one  direction  then  in  another. 
And  still  they  pushed  up  the  limp  bodies  of  dead 
native  girls  and  youths,  and  one  by  one  passed  them 
along  to  that  crew  of  sea-thugs,  who  carelessly  pushed 
them  over  the  bulwarks  into  the  sea!  Gabrielle  dis- 
tinctly heard  the  splash  as  they  fell. 

She  half  fancied  that  she  heard  long-drawn  groans 
coming  from  the  direction  of  the  sea.  Nor  was  she 
mistaken,  for  they  pitched  the  dying  overboard  too! 
The  crew  of  slavers  were  not  over-sensitive  in  such 
matters. 

The  girl  was  still  staring,  dumbfounded,  when  the 
men  softly  closed  the  hatchway  over  that  terrible 
drama  of  life  below.  Then  she  heard  the  dull  thuds  of 
the  locks  being  secured  and  rammed  home.  They  even 
placed  the  thick  canvas  covering  over  the  hatchway 
again  and  so  closed  the  cracks  that  mercifully  had 
let  a  breath  of  fresh  air  into  that  breathing  mass  of 
shrieking  merchandise — kidnapped  native  girls,  men 
and  women!  As  soon  as  Gabrielle  saw  those  demon 
undertakers  steal  away  into  the  shadows  towards  the 
forecastle  she  realised  that  it  was  no  nightmare,  no 
horror  of  an  imaginary  world  that  she  had  felt  and 
witnessed.  It  was  all  real  enough.  In  a  flash  her 
brain  had  realised  all  that  it  really  meant.  She  re- 
membered how  her  own  father  had  talked  about  the 
horrors  of  the  blackbirding  ships,  and  how  the  huddled 
victims  died  in  the  fetid  hold.  She  recalled  how  he 
had  even  confessed  that  he  too  had  once  dabbled  in 
the  slave  traffic.  And  as  she  remembered  she  saw 
herself  as  a  child  again,  listening  in  wonder  at  her 


228         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

father's  knees  as  he  proudly  told  his  beachcomber 
guests  of  the  "glorious  good  old  blackbirding  days." 

After  seeing  that  sight  Gabrielle  became  seriously 
ill,  mentally  as  well  as  physically.  She  lay  sleepless 
through  the  night  and  longed  for  forgetfulness.  The 
scene  she  had  witnessed  as  they  cast  the  kidnapped 
dead  into  the  sea  had  completely  horrified  her.  In 
her  mind  over  and  over  again  she  found  herself  count- 
ing the  dead  bodies  she  had  seen  thrown  overboard. 
It  took  her  that  way.  She  had  often  heard  the  mission 
men  talk  about  the  cruelty  of  the  kidnapping  business, 
but  it  required  such  a  sight  as  she  had  witnessed  to 
make  her  realise  the  truth  of  what  she  had  heard. 
True  enough,  it  is  hard  for  anyone  to  realise  the  horrors 
of  the  slave  traffic  till  they  see  the  actual  results  with 
their  own  eyes. 

Possibly  the  great  poet  will  never  be  born  who 
could  write  the  poem  that  would  adequately  describe 
the  Brown  Man's  Burden  so  that  the  Western  world 
could  read  and  realise  that  the  White  Man's  Burden 
is  not  the  only  one  that  men  have  to  bear  through 
spreading  Western  principles  among  the  islands  of 
remote  seas. 

Gabrielle  got  out  of  her  bunk  that  same  night  and 
pushed  every  available  article  of  furniture  against  her 
cabin  door.  She  realised  what  she  was  in  for.  It  was 
the  first  hint  she  had  had  that  she  was  not  the  only 
wretched  victim  that  trembled  in  fear  on  that  ship. 
And  as  she  lay  sleepless,  thinking  of  everything  and 
of  those  trembling,  terror-stricken  girls  and  youths 
that  made  the  cargo  in  the  airless,  fevered  hold  not 
twenty  feet  from  her  bunk,  she  half  envied  her  own 
terrible  position. 

Next  day  when  the  Rajah  noticed  the  look  of  horror 


KIDNAPPED  229 

in  the  girl's  eyes  as  he  rattled  off  his  vers  Wore  he  re- 
tired as  gracefully  as  possible  and  quickly  arrayed 
himself  in  his  most  attractive  attire  of  Rajahship. 

He  placed  the  rich,  scarlet-hued  turban  on  his  skull. 
He  tied  the  yellow  waist-sash  about  him  so  that  the 
bow  fell  coquettishly  down  at  his  left  hip.  He  even 
cleaned  his  teeth  with  cigar  ash  and  manipulated  an 
artistic  curl  at  the  ends  of  his  dark  moustache.  Then 
he  proceeded  to  haunt  Gabrielle  again.  He  read  the 
Bible  aloud ;  he  put  such  well-simulated  sincerity  into 
his  melodious  voice  that  Gabrielle  rubbed  her  eyes 
and  half  wondered  if  she  had  dreamed  that  terrible 
sight  of  the  night  before.  As  she  sat  at  the  low  cuddy 
table  and  the  dark  man  sat  right  opposite  her  with  the 
knees  of  his  long,  thin  legs  bunched  beneath  the  table, 
she  listened  to  his  splendid  lies.  He  went  so  far  as 
to  tell  her  how  he  had  a  great  reputation  for  good 
works,  of  how  he  roamed  the  seas  searching  to  redress 
the  wrongs  done  to  helpless  girls,  men  and  native 
women!  He  swore  that  his  ship  roamed  the  South 
Seas  expressly  to  attempt  to  put  down  slave  traffic! 
He  knew!  he  knew!  that  the  girl  had  some  inkling 
of  the  kind  of  vessel  she  was  on. 

' '  Gabrielle, ' '  said  he,  ' '  you  knower  not  my  troubles, 
and  how  when  I  do  capture  slave-ship  I  have  to  rescue 
the  victims  and  put  them  down  in  the  hold  of  this 
vessel  till  sucher  time  as  I  can  take  them  to  some  isle 
where  they  can  be  safe  till  they  are  returned  to  their 
own  people !" 

' '  Could  it  be  true  ? ' '  was  Gabrielle 's  inward  thought, 
as  she  watched  the  man's  face  and  saw  nothing  but 
the  light  of  a  proud  achievement  in  his  eyes.  And  it 
must  be  admitted  that  there  was  some  truth  in  all 
that  he  told  the  girl  about  his  reputation.  For  was  it 


230          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

not  well  known  from  Apia  to  Dutch  New  Guinea  that 
Rajah  Koo  Macka  was  a  great  Christian  Rajah? 
And  was  it  not  true  that  he  had  been  in  receipt  of 
thousands  of  pounds  that  had  been  collected  through 
the  kind  medium  of  Christian  societies  who  were  in- 
terested in  the  noble  endeavour  to  put  down  slave 
traffic  in  the  South  Seas  ?  And  who  can  deny  the  fact 
that  thousands  of  men  and  women  in  England  had 
unconsciously  contributed  towards  the  expenses  in- 
curred by  the  Rajah  in  fitting  out  his  ship,  the  Bird 
of  Paradise,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  abducting  natives 
and  for  following  his  monstrous  inclinations. 

And  there  he  sat  in  his  cosy  cuddy,  a  splendid  ex- 
ample of  the  civilised,  converted  Papuan  invested  with 
a  hideous  power  by  weak-minded  charity-givers  who 
saw  no  just  cause  for  their  charity  in  their  own  country. 

The  Rajah  was  a  living  libel  on  true  missionary  work 
and  on  the  reputation  of  the  missionaries  themselves. 
With  others  of  his  profession,  he  had  often  let  his 
helpless  merchandise  out  on  hire  into  the  hands  of 
wealthy  half-caste  and  sensual  white  men.  And  when 
native  girls  gave  birth  to  half-caste  children  soon  after 
their  arrival  on  the  sugar  plantations  as  far  away  as 
Brisbane,  the  innocent  missionaries  got  the  blame  for 
what  had  happened  to  the  girls  who  had  been  contam- 
inated after  leaving  their  native  isles.  But  all  this  is 
only  a  detail  in  the  Rajah's  life.  He  was  a  genius  in 
Ms  way.  No  man  living  would  have  had  the  patience 
to  talk  and  talk,  and  sing  and  chant  as  he  did  to  his 
beautiful,  helpless  prisoner.  God  only  knows  how  he 
got  Gabrielle  to  believe  in  him  again.  Perhaps  it 
wasn't  so  strange  when  one  thinks  of  her  tender  years 
and  the  mighty  pretence  of  the  astute  Rajah.  Night 
after  night  he  came  to  her  and  went  on  his  bended 


KIDNAPPED  231 

knees.  Sometimes  he  held  the  Bible  in  his  hand, 
babbled  over  its  pages  and  said :  "  0  Gabri-ar-le,  give 
thy  purest  love  unto  me  and  I  swear  on  this  divine  book 
that  I  will  take  thee  back  unto  thy  father. ' ' 

On  hearing  this  Gabrielle's  heart  leapt  with  hope. 
"Perhaps  he  isn't  all  bad  and  has  relented,"  she 
thought.  Then  she  glanced  steadily  into  the  Papuan's 
eyes  and  said:  "I  swear  that  I  will  bear  no  ill-feeling 
towards  you  if  you  will  only  take  me  home  again." 
Then  with  that  wonderful  instinct  that  women  reveal 
when  in  such  a  grievous  pass,  she  added :  ' '  I  can  easily 
say  that  I  was  washed  out  to  sea  in  a  canoe  that  night 
and  that  your  ship  picked  me  up,  and  then  no  blame 
will  be  attached  to  you;  you  may  even  be  rewarded. 
Will  you  take  me  back  to  Bougainville?"  Saying 
this,  she  looked  earnestly  into  the  heathen's  eyes  and 
continued:  ''Father  was  very  drunk  that  night,  you 
know;  he  heard  or  guessed  nothing  of  all  that  hap- 
pened; he  wouldn't  dream  of  the  truth." 

The  man  sat  there  silent,  chin  on  hand,  as  he  gazed 
steadily  upon  the  girl.  It  was  evident  by  the  look  in 
his  eyes  that  he  admired  the  clever  way  she  had  put 
the  whole  matter  before  him.  Gabrielle  mistook  that 
look.  Her  heart  fluttered.  She  felt  like  screaming 
in  the  ecstasy  of  hope  that  thrilled  her  in  the  thought 
that  she  might  yet  get  back  to  Bougainville  and  see 
the  young  apprentice  again.  The  man  sat  opposite 
her  for  a  long  while  in  thought,  then  he  shook  his  head 
as  though  in  response  to  his  own  reflections.  He  gave 
a  cruel  smile  as  he  noticed  the  expression  of  delight 
in  the  girl's  eyes  at  the  thought  of  getting  out  of  his 
clutches.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and,  giving  her  one  of  his 
lascivious  looks,  walked  slowly  out  of  the  cuddy. 

Gabrielle's  hopes  faded.    The  reaction  set  in.    Her 


232          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

despair  was  terrible  as  loneliness  came  to  her  heart. 
She  went  into  her  dismal  berth.  She  was  now  left 
quite  alone,  for  little  sympathetic  Tombo  had  ceased 
to  come  near  her.  She  well  knew  that  it  wasn't  the 
little  cabin-boy's  fault;  he  was  ordered  to  keep  out 
of  the  way. 

"He's  a  murderer,  a  cruel  villain,  a  heathen — and 
once  I  thought  he  was  a  god  among  men,  an  apostle 
of  beauty  and  truth. ' '  So  ran  Gabrielle  's  reflections  as 
she  sat  alone  and  thought  critically  about  the  Rajah. 
She  looked  out  of  the  port-hole.  It  was  a  brilliant 
moon-lit  night.  She  saw  the  dark  crew  climbing  aloft 
to  reef  the  sails.  She  knew  that  the  vessel  had  altered 
its  course.  The  sight  of  everything  depressed  her 
terribly.  There  was  something  weird  in  the  sight  of 
those  dark  men  toiling  aloft  as  they  sang  their  strange 
Malayan  chanteys.  She  saw  the  shining  clasp-knives 
between  their  teeth  as  their  shadows  dropped  softly 
down  onto  the  deck.  Once  more  she  heard  the  whistle 
blown  to  call  the  next  watch.  Then  complete  silence 
reigned.  She  had  nearly  gone  off  to  sleep  when  once 
more  she  heard  the  wails  and  muffled  screams.  Though 
terrified  at  those  sounds,  she  again  peeped  through  the 
port-hole  and  watched.  Again  she  heard  the  heart- 
rending moans.  Again  the  awful  dragging  silence 
came  as  the  hatchway  was  lifted.  ' '  Pl6mp !  plomp ! 
plomp !  plomp ! ' '  She  knew  then  that  four  more  vic- 
tims had  been  cast  into  the  deep.  She  strained  her 
neck  and  put  her  head  right  out  of  the  port-hole.  She 
saw  the  dusk  of  the  burning  tropic  seas  and  the  stars 
as  the  vessel  kept  steadily  on  its  course,  leaving  the 
floating  bodies  in  its  wake. 

The  next  day  the  Rajah  came  into  the  dismal  cuddy 
several  times  and  spoke  to  her,  but  she  shrank  in- 
stinctively from  his  presence.  He  noticed  her  manner 


KIDNAPPED  233 

and  wondered.  The  girl's  uncongenial  attitude  did  not 
rhyme  in  with  the  plans  he  had  so  nicely  mapped  out. 
But  determination  was  his  great  virtue.  He  made 
many  attempts  to  ingratiate  himself.  "Why  you  no 
liker  me  now?"  he  said,  as  he  looked  at  her.  She 
made  no  reply.  In  his  excitement  he  mixed  his 
language  up  so  much  that  Gabrielle  could  hardly  un- 
derstand what  he  said.  His  mixture  of  pidgin-English 
and  broken  Biblical  phrases  made  a  kind  of  musical 
potpourri  of  exotic  sensuousness  that  haunted  the  girl 's 
ears,  reviving  vivid  memories  of  her  own  people  and 
at  the  same  time  reminding  her  how  far  away  she  was 
from  their  protection. 

"Gabri-ar-le,  allow  me,"  he  murmured  in  his  soft, 
insinuating  voice,  as  he  leaned  forward  and  stuck  a 
small  red  f rangipanni  blossom  in  the  folds  of  her  hair. 
It  was  a  bloom  from  the  pots  of  flowers  that  swung  to 
and  fro  from  the  cuddy  ceiling. 

Gabrielle  looked  steadily  at  the  man.  A  strange 
gleam  was  in  his  eyes.  It  was  just  after  sunset.  Al- 
ready the  eight  members  of  the  crew,  who  were  devout 
sun-worshippers,  had  lain  prone  on  the  forecastle 
deck  and  murmured  their  dolorous  chants  to  the  last 
gold  and  purple  glow  of  the  departed  day. 

The  stars  were  shining  over  the  sea.  It  was  almost 
calm.  Every  now  and  again  came  the  muffled  drum- 
like  sounds  of  the  heavy  canvas  sails  that  bellied  out 
to  the  breath  of  the  sleepy  night  wind,  flopped,  and 
fell  loosely  as  the  halyards  rattled  and  the  ship  rolled 
to  the  glassy  swell. 

The  Rajah  had  sat  down  at  the  low  table,  right 
opposite  Gabrielle.  His  turban  was  tilted  rakishly  on 
one  side.  As  he  looked  sideways,  glancing  poetically 
towards  the  deck  roof,  his  firm,  handsome,  curved 


234          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

throat  was  certainly  shown  to  advantage.  He  looked 
like  some  Byronie  corsair.  There  was  no  denying  that 
he  was  a  handsome  man  of  his  type.  He  leaned  gently 
towards  Gabrielle,  one  hand  on  chin,  continuing  to  gaze 
as  though  in  sorrowful  reflection  over  his  shortcomings 
and  the  white  girl's  sorrow  resulting  therefrom. 

"  Gabri-ar-le,  I'  lover  thee.  You  know  not  the  ocean 
of  my  soul,  how  dark  it  is  since  your  eyes  should  be 
the  stars  to  shine  over  its  darkness.  Wilt  love  me  a 
little,  O  white  maiden?" 

He  still  had  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  in  rapt  admira- 
tion, eyes  that  moved  up  and  down  her  form. 

She  looked  beautiful  indeed  as  she  suddenly  rose, 
stood  there  in  the  dim  light,  attired  in  her  sarong-like 
bluish  robe,  the  divided  sleeves  of  which  revealed  her 
rounded  arms.  The  broad  scarlet  sash,  tied  bow-wise 
at  the  left  hip,  fell  negligently  almost  down  to  her 
ankle.  A  hot  breath  of  sleepy  wind  crept  through 
the  cabin  doorway,  wafting  the  rich  odours  of  exotic 
flowers  that  hung  all  along  by  the  cuddy  port-holes  on 
the  starboard  side.  The  ship's  black  cat  suddenly 
whipped  across  the  saloon,  looked  up  into  its  master's 
face  with  its  yellow,  burning  orbs  and  then  disap- 
peared like  a  shadow. 

Gabrielle  trembled  as  she  sought  to  answer  the 
Rajah's  questions.  She  could  faintly  hear  the  tinkle 
of  the  weird  zeirung  as  some  dark  man  forward  in 
the  forecastle  accompanied  the  mellow  voice  of  some- 
one who  was  singing  a  Malayan  chantey. 

"I  felt  that  I  liked  you  once,  but  I  hate  you  now!" 
said  Gabrielle  impulsively.  Then  she  added:  "How 
could  you  expect  me  to  like  such  as  you,  after  all 
you've  done?" 

The  Rajah  gave  a  grin. 


KIDNAPPED  235 

"I  want  you  to  take  me  back  to  my  people,"  the 
girl  almost  sobbed.  Then  she  rose  and  began  stealthily 
to  move  away  from  his  presence;  she  had  noticed  the 
flushed,  half-wild  expression  on  his  handsome  face. 
She  saw  the  fixed  look  of  resolve  in  his  eyes. 

He  swiftly  put  forth  his  hand  and,  catching  hold  of 
her  fingers  firmly,  softly  forced  her  to  sit  down  once 
more  in  front  of  him. 

For  a  moment  he  looked  at  her  as  though  he  was 
about  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms.  Gabrielle's  heart 
thumped.  She  noticed  that  he  sat  on  the  side  near  the 
open  door  and  so  barred  her  progress  should  she  at- 
tempt to  make  a  bolt.  She  heard  the  voice  of  the  man 
at  the  wheel  humming  words  of  an  unknown  tongue 
just  over  her  head  out  on  the  poop.  She  knew  that 
the  Eajah's  mate  was  laid  up  with  fever  in  the  deck- 
house amidships,  and  so  she  was  quite  alone  with  the 
Eajah. 

"I  know  that  I  am  only  Pa-ooan.  You  no'  like 
me  'cause  I  dark  man,  eh?  Wilt  lover  me,  canst  thou 
deny  me,  0  maid  of  mine  heart  ? ' ' 

Gabrielle  knew  by  his  lapse  into  Biblical  pidgin- 
English  that  he  was  in  an  excited,  treacherous  state  of 
mind;  she  also  realised  that  it  was  wiser  for  her  to 
attempt  to  mollify  him. 

"I  don't  dislike  the  people  of  your  race  at  all;  it's 
the  wicked  way  that  you  kidnapped  me  that  makes 
me  hate  you.  "Won 't  you  take  me  back  to  my  people  ? ' ' 

Though  she  spoke  with  apparent  calmness,  her  heart 
was  thumping  so  violently  that  she  half  fancied  he 
heard  it  beat.  She  instinctively  knew  why  the  man 
stared  at  her  so.  She  noticed  that  he  had  not  lit  the 
hanging  lamp  in  the  usual  way,  either.  Only  the  faint, 
flickering  glimmers  from  the  lantern  that  swung  by 


236 

the  saloon  door  and  the  deck  sent  its  gleams  towards 
them.  She  could  just  discern  the  shadowy-like  face 
of  the  Rajah  sitting  opposite  her.  His  voice  had  be- 
come strangely  soft  and  seductive,  almost  musical: 
"Do  you  lover  me,  one  little  much,  pretty  whiter 


"I  don't  know,"  she  whispered  hastily  in  a  hushed, 
frightened  voice,  hardly  knowing  what  she  did  say,  as 
she  swiftly  glanced  around  and  realised  her  terrible 
helplessness  in  that  cabin  far  away  on  the  coral  seas. 
No  escape  there  for  her!  The  glimmer  of  the  seas 
outside  the  port-holes  only  gave  her  a  deeper  sense 
of  loneliness,  if  that  were  possible.  She  heard  the 
tramp!  tramp!  of  the  watch  walking  the  poop  just 
over  their  heads  as  they  sat  there. 

"Let  me  go  to  my  berth,  I'm  tired,  I  want  to  sleep.  " 
she  said  softly,  as  she  hastily  rose  to  her  feet.  The 
state  of  her  feelings  was  obvious.  The  Rajah  could 
almost  hear  the  fluttering  of  the  girl's  heart  in  that 
soft,  tremulous  voice.  Standing  there  with  flushed 
face  and  her  eyes  staring  with  fright,  she  looked  very- 
beautiful.  He  put  his  hand  out  gently  and  leaned 
across  the  table  towards  her.  In  her  fright  she  gripped 
his  extended  hand.  Her  hair  had  fallen  down  to  her 
neck  and  shoulders,  tumbling  in  a  golden  mass  as  she 
lifted  her  hand  and  glanced  wildly  about  her.  It  had 
been  loosened  from  its  neat  coil  by  the  flowers  that 
the  Rajah  had  stuck  in  the  glossy  folds.  The  heathen 
corsair's  vanity  was  so  profound  that  he  imagined  the 
girl  had  deliberately  made  her  tresses  tumble  in  luring 
deshabille  for  his  eyes. 

A  great  fire  leapt  like  a  blown  flame  into  the  man  's 
eyes.  And  Gabrielle  noticed  it.  She  began  to  move 
backwards,  very  slowly,  step  by  step,  in  the  direction 


KIDNAPPED  237 

of  her  cabin  door.  One  of  her  hands  clutched  her  robe 
tightly  against  her  trembling  figure,  as  though  she 
would  not  have  him  see  the  way  her  stealthy  feet  were 
moving  from  his  presence.  He  too  had  swiftly  risen 
from  the  cuddy  table  and  was  moving  with  a  stealthy, 
cat-like  step  towards  her.  It  was  like  some  tragic  scene 
in  a  drama  as  she  moved  backward,  her  eyes  fixed  on 
him,  and  he  followed  step  by  step  over  the  cuddy  floor. 
The  girl's  pale  face  and  frightened,  alert  eyes  were 
reflected  in  the  large  saloon  mirror  as  she  crept  round 
the  table.  His  taller  form  sent  a  monstrous  silhouette 
over  the  panelled  walls,  his  turbaned  head  going  right 
across  the  ceiling.  And  still  she  moved  on. 

Gabrielle  had  sought  to  mislead  him  as  to  her  exact 
intentions.  She  made  a  rush,  whipped  into  her  cabin 
and  slammed  the  door.  Not  till  then  did  the  Rajah 
realise  his  mistake  in  thinking  that  her  tresses  had 
fallen  for  his  benefit. 

A  look  of  rage  swept  across  his  swarthy  face  at  the 
way  Gabrielle  had  baffled  him.  But  he  knew  the  way 
to  play  the  game.  In  a  second  he  had  placed  his 
mouth  to  the  small  grating  circle  that  was  in  the  top 
of  her  cabin  door.  ' '  Gabri-ar-le,  beloved  mine,  I  do 
swear  not  to  hurt  you;  let  me  comer  in,"  he  whis- 
pered. "Why  you  rush  away  from  me  like  that?" 
he  added  in  an  injured  tone.  He  did  not  wish  to  raise 
his  voice.  He  knew  there  was  a  possibility  of  the  girl 
screaming  when  she  realised  the  full  import  of  his 
wishes.  He  had  no  desire  that  the  crew  should  know 
that  he  was  a  rank  outsider  so  far  as  the  white  girl's 
affections  were  concerned.  He  had  loved  to  walk  the 
schooner's  deck,  his  chest  swelling  with  that  pride  that 
dark  men  feel  when  a  white  woman  is  theirs;  he  also 
knew  that  his  Kanaka  crew  envied  him  his  saloon 


238          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

quarters,  where  they  knew  the  lovely  white  girl  dwelt. 

"Don't  try  to  come  in!  You  dare  not!  Leave  me 
alone.  I  want  to  sleep,"  replied  Gabrielle,  as  he  con- 
tinued softly  and  persistently  to  knock  at  the  cabin 
door. 

He  heard  the  trembling  note  of  appeal  in  her  voice. 
' '  I  swear  by  the  gods  of  my  land  and  the  stars  of  your 
own  that  should  you  open  the  door  and  let  me  kiss  your 
hand  no  harm  shall  come  to  you." 

He  heard  Gabrielle  smash  something  heavy  against 
the  door.  It  was  the  reply  to  his  appeal.  His  voice 
took  on  a  rougher  tone,  he  was  evidently  getting  im- 
patient. "If  you  don't  let  me  in  I'll  smash  the  door 
down ;  it 's  my  ship ! "  he  said  in  a  threatening  under- 
tone, then  swiftly  added:  "But,  sweeter  girl,  if  you 
let  me  in  I  swear  to  keep  my  promise. ' ' 

Gabrielle  glanced  round  her  berth.  Not  a  weapon 
was  handy.  She  was  trembling.  ' '  Perhaps  he  speaks 
the  truth,"  she  thought. 

"Won't  you  go?  We'll  speak  to-morrow!"  she 
said  softly,  as  though  she  would  appeal  to  his  heart. 
Again  he  swore  that  he  would  not  harm  her. 

Gabrielle  looked  in  despair  through  the  port-hole. 
For  a  moment  she  was  half  inclined  to  put  her  head 
out  and  scream.  Then  she  thought  of  the  hideous 
mulatto  mate  and  the  fierce  Kanaka  crew.  She  shud- 
dered. What  hope  had  she  ?  Even  as  she  realised  the 
hopelessness  of  her  position  the  Rajah's  booted  foot 
crashed  at  the  door. 

Gabrielle  hardly  knew  what  she  was  doing  as  she 
flung  the  door  open.  "I  believe  you,"  she  said,  as  she 
stood  there,  just  inside  her  cabin  and  gazed  courage- 
ously into  the  man 's  eyes.  For  a  moment  he  was  taken 


KIDNAPPED  239 

aback,  but  in  another  moment  he  had  responded  by 
hastily  stepping  forward. 

Gabrielle  was  quite  unprepared  for  his  sudden  out- 
burst, notwithstanding  all  that  had  happened.  He 
took  her  hand  in  his  own.  He  pressed  warm  kisses  on 
the  soft  white  fingers.  He  became  almost  incoherent 
as  he  talked  and  told  her  how  he  had  dreamed  of  her 
and  seen  her  image  in  the  great  magical  lagoons  in  his 
native  land. 

"The  gods  said  that  such  as  you  would  be  mine. 
Yes,  Gabri-ar-le,  long  years  ago  before  you  were  born." 

He  had  seized  her  in  a  passionate  clasp.  The  terrible 
magic  of  his  vile  personality  began  to  work  on  the 
girl 's  overwrought  mind.  ' '  Go  away !  Go  away ! ' '  she 
pleaded.  But  still  he  wailed  on  about  his  old  gods, 
their  magic  and  the  wonders  of  his  country.  For  a 
moment  he  leaned  against  the  frame  of  the  cabin  door 
as  though  he  were  about  to  depart,  but  he  did  not  go. 
He  leaned  forward  and  began  to  murmur  a  weird 
Papuan  chant.  His  voice  was  peculiarly  mellow  and 
sweet.  There  was  something  melodiously  caressing 
in  the  strain.  Just  for  a  moment  his  eyes  softened, 
as  though  his  heart  was  influenced  by  the  music  of  his 
lips.  It  was  only  for  a  second,  though,  ere  the  tiger 
beast  of  his  nature  returned  and  once  more  he  gazed 
unabashed  at  the  girl,  as  only  the  low  order  of  the  dark 
races  can  gaze.  He  touched  her  fingers.  His  dark 
hands  had  begun  to  creep  in  a  caressing  way  up  her 
arms.  His  burning  eyes  still  stared  relentlessly  into 
the  terrified  eyes  of  the  girl.  He  would  not  vary  that 
glance,  no,  not  for  one  second,  as  he  stared  on  triumph- 
ant, magnetising  her  soul  by  the  eerie  fire  of  his  own. 

"My  beloved,  putih  bunga!"  he  murmured,  as  he 


240         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

noticed  the  look  of  terror  fading  away  from  the  eyes 
that  had  looked  up  so  appealingly  into  his. 

Gabrielle's  face,  ghastly  pale  but  a  moment  before, 
now  appeared  strangely  dushed,  almost  swarthy- 
looking.  But  even  the  Rajah  looked  startled  as  he 
saw  the  change  in  her  expression,  as  she  stood  there 
dimly  revealed  by  the  light  of  the  stars  that  gleamed 
through  the  little  cabin's  port-hole.  Standing  there 
framed  between  her  bunk  and  the  slanting  beam  of  the 
bulwark,  her  tumbled  hair  about  her  neck,  she  looked 
like  some  wonderful  emblematic  figure  of  spiritual 
beauty  struggling  against  the  temptation  of  passion. 
But  still  his  hands  stole  stealthily  up  her  arms  and 
about  her:  now  he  softly  touched  the  silky  material 
of  her  blouse,  his  face  within  three  inches  of  her 
own.  His  arms  curved  snake-wise  over  her  shoulders. 
"Marlino  sa  wean,  placer  your  lips  to  mine — quick, 
quick!"  he  whispered.  His  voice  was  hoarse  with 
passion  as  he  drew  her  near  to  him.  "Putih  bunga, 
mine!  Ola  savoo,  beautiful!"  he  babbled.  He  felt 
the  sighing  heave  and  fall  of  her  bosom.  Gently  but 
firmly  he  pressed  her  head  slowly  backwards,  so  that 
her  face  should  be  uplifted  to  his  own.  Even  in  the 
gloom  he  noticed  that  her  eyes  stared  up  at  him  as 
though  in  sleep.  He  leaned  half  fearfully  forward 
and  let  his  mouth  touch  her  lips. 

"Go!  Go!"  she  wailed,  as  she  tried  to  overcome  the 
darkness  that  was  sweeping  her  very  life  away.  She 
fancied  that  a  shadow  had  slipped  out  of  the  night  to 
torture  her  soul.  Again  in  some  terrible  rivalship  of 
dark  and  mystery  it  sought  to  strangle  her.  She 
fancied  she  saw  strange,  wild  eyes  appealing  to  her, 
peering  over  the  Rajah's  shoulder;  but  it  was  only  the 
Rajah's  eyes  she  really  saw. 


KIDNAPPED  241 

He  saw  her  eyelids  quiver.  He  felt  the  wild  throb 
of  her  bosom  still ;  but  he  noticed  that  the  limbs  had 
ceased  to  tremble. 

' '  She  hath  given  herself  unto  me ! "  so  ran  a  thought 
through  his  mind.  He  lost  control  of  his  acquired 
civilised  astuteness  and  began  to  press  impassioned 
kisses  on  her  upturned  mouth.  He  felt  her  arms  clasp 
him  in  a  responsive  embrace. 

"Putih!  Mine!"  he  whispered,  his  voice  hoarse 
with  passion.  Her  scented  tresses  fell  about  his  face. 
He  fiercely  pulled  the  fringe  of  her  bodice  open  at  the 
neck  and  pressed  burning  kisses  on  the  whiteness  of 
her  throat. 

"Don't!  Don't!"  she  cried  softly.  But  he  held 
her  the  tighter;  it  was  a  merciless  grip.  She  had 
begun  to  struggle.  He  was  surprised  at  her  strength 
as  she  suddenly  put  forth  her  arms,  clutched  him  by 
the  throat  with  one  hand  and  with  the  other  caught 
him  by  the  shoulder  and  pushed.  For  a  moment 
he  made  little  effort  to  ward  her  off.  Slowly,  to  her 
delight,  she  felt  him  going  back,  backwards  towards 
her  cabin  door  as  she  pushed  in  her  frenzy.  And  still 
she  struggled  and  still  she  felt  his  big  form  receding 
till  his  turbaned  head  was  half-an-inch  out  of  the  door. 
She  gave  a  smothered  cry  of  delight ;  she  was  winning 
in  that  terrible  encounter  that  was  a  struggle  of  life 
and  death  to  her.  Alas!  she  had  not  reckoned  with 
the  cunning  of  that  Papuan  kidnapper.  He  almost 
smiled  as  he  allowed  her  to  force  him  back  yet  a  little 
more.  Even  she  half  wondered  why  she  was  winning 
so  easily.  Then  out  shot  his  hand;  at  last  she  had 
enabled  him  to  reach  and  grip  hold  of  the  handle  of 
the  cabin-door  that  opened  outwards  into  the  saloon; 

16 


242         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

in  a  moment  he  had  pulled  it  to;  crash!  it  went  as 
he  slammed  it  and  pushed  the  bolt ! 

She  and  he  were  alone,  shut  in  the  cabin.  They 
stood  facing  one  another  in  the  dusk,  like  two  half- 
baffled  figures.  Only  the  stars  faintly  visible  through 
the  port-hole  told  of  the  ocean  world  outside  as  Gabri- 
elle  looked  first  at  the  dark  form  before  her  and  then 
out  into  the  night.  She  could  not  scream  as  he  seized 
her  in  a  tight  clasp.  Only  a  moment  and  she  had 
ceased  to  struggle,  was  crying  softly  to  herself  as 
he  pressed  burning  kisses  on  her  face  and  drew  her 
towards  him. 

He  continued  his  love-making  ill  far  into  the  night. 
Although  the  girl  was  completely  in  the  Rajah 's  power, 
he  still  showed  an  unaccustomed  restraint.  Heathen 
though  he  was,  he  could,  when  occasion  demanded, 
hold  his  passions  in  reserve.  They  would  be  gratified 
later,  he  told  himself,  as  he  gloated  over  the  defenceless 
girl.  She  would  be  even  more  at  his  mercy  in  his 
native  coastal  village,  in  his  own  private  dwelling. 

And  still  the  stars  shone  over  the  wide  ocean-way 
of  night.  Only  the  sounds  of  the  swelling  sails  and 
their  muffled  flop !  flop !  broke  the  silence,  as  the  ves- 
sel rose  to  the  swell  and  rolled  like  a  helpless  derelict 
on  the  silent  tropic  seas.  Tramp !  tramp !  went  the 
watch  over  head.  Then  someone  in  the  forecastle  be- 
gan to  sing;  it  came  faint  but  distinct,  some  old 
Malayan  chantey  drifting  aft  as  the  wide  wings  of  the 
wind  moved  across  that  great  world  of  waters. 

It  was  night-time,  and  three  days  after  the  Rajah 's 
cowardly  attack,  when  Gabrielle  heard  the  Malayan 
sailors  singing  one  of  their  weird  chanteys  in  a  cheer- 
ful voice.  She  at  once  looked  through  the  port-hole  of 


KIDNAPPED  243 

her  berth,  wherein  she  had  made  herself  a  willing 
prisoner,  only  allowing  the  Malayan  cabin-boy  Tombo 
to  enter  with  her  meals.  She  stared  aloft.  Tke  vessel 
at  that  very  moment  was  altering  its  course.  She 
distinctly  noticed  the  apparent  movement  of,  the  stars 
as  the  dark  canvas  sails  veered.  Again  she  heard  the 
gabble  and  hustle  as  the  helm  was  put  hard  over.  It 
looked  just  as  though  the  moon  had  given  a  frightened 
skid  across  the  sky.  They  had  just  let  the  hatchway 
down  with  a  bang,  had  finished  pitching  the  dead 
victims  of  the  hold  overboard.  But  still  the  Rajah 
shouted  his  orders.  He  was  calling  in  a  strange 
language.  She  tried  to  understand,  but  not  a  word 
was  familiar  to  her.  "What's  it  all  mean?  Are  we 
there1?"  she  wondered,  as  she  looked  round  her  in 
despair.  She  gazed  to  the  southward.  Her  heart  gave 
a  tremendous  thump  as  she  sighted,  a  long,  low  line 
of  dark  coast  to  the  starboard.  Then  she  knew  that 
at  last  the  Bird  of  Paradise  lay  off  the  dreaded  coast  of 
wild  New  Guinea. 

Words  cannot  describe  the  misery  of  Gabrielle's 
heart  as  she  saw  the  coast-line  of  that  strange,  rugged 
land  and  realised  that  when  once  she  was  ashore  there 
she  would  be  completely  in  the  Rajah's  power.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  a  great  shadow  from  that  moun- 
tainous world  swept  across  the  sea  and  struck  her  soul 
with  despair  as  a  solitary  cloud,  like  a  castaway's 
raft,  crept  under  the  moon.  Her  hair  fluttered  to  the 
cool  night  breeze,  her  fingers  clutched  the  rim  of  the 
port-hole  as  she  still  stared  towards  that  desolate, 
terrible  coast-line.  But  had  Gabrielle  Everard  been 
able  to  look  astern  and  see  across  half-a-thousand  miles 
what  a  sight  would  have  cheered  her  despairing  heart. 
She  would  hare  seen  the  Sea  Foam  dipping  gracefully, 


244         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

bounding  onward,  travelling  south-south-west  across 
the  coral  sea  beneath  the  tropic  moon  with  all  sail  set, 
and  Mango  Pango  dancing  on  deck,  while  the  great 
Ulysses,  with  hand  placed  sentimentally  on  his  heart, 
thundered  out : 

"  Oh,  I  went  down  South  for  to  see  my  Sal, 
Singing  Polly-wolly-doodle  all  the  way !  " 

and  Hillary,  still  full  of  romance  and  hope,  playing  the 
violin  like  some  pagan  god,  accompanying  each  song 
the  big  man  sang. 


CHAPTER  XII 
IN  NEW  GUINEA 

IT  was  close  on  midnight  when  the  Bird  of  Paradise 
dropped  anchor  off  the  coastal  township  of 
Tumba-Tumba.  It  was  the  Papuan  kidnapper's 
native  home  on  the  coast  of  New  Guinea,  north-west  of 
Astrolabe  mountains. 

"Keep  near  me,  dear  Tombo,"  whispered  Gabrielle, 
as  the  little  cabin-boy  ran  into  the  cuddy  full  of  excite- 
ment at  hearing  the  anchor  go.  Before  the  little 
fellow  could  make  any  response  to  Gabrielle  the  Rajah 
lifted  his  foot  and  with  a  straight  kick  impelled  the 
boy  forcibly  out  on  deck  again.  Then  he  went  away 
forward  to  give  orders  to  the  bustling  crew.  Two  or 
three  Herculean  Dyaks  stood  with  revolvers  in  their 
hands  by  the  main  hatchway.  They  had  apparently 
thrown  over  all  the  dead  bodies  of  the  victims  who 
had  died  in  the  hold.  Gabrielle  looked  through  the 
port-hole  and  saw  half-a-dozen  terror-stricken  brown 
faces  peep  over  the  rim  of  the  hatchway.  She  saw  the 
clutching  brown  fingers  of  old  men,  girls  and  youths 
curled  on  the  hatchway  rim  as  the  slaves  struggled  to 
get  a  purchase  and  stare  up  at  the  blue,  star-lit  sky 
before  the  hatch  was  slammed  down  again. 

She  ran  out  on  deck  and  stared  shoreward  in  her 
despair.  They  were  anchored  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  the  line  of  coral  reefs  that  loomed  afar, 
looking  like  grim,  gnarled  monsters  of  the  sea,  where 
the  ridges  lifted  their  wave-washed  backs  for  miles 
and  miles.  There,  before  Gabrielle 's  eyes,  were  the 

245 


246          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

wild  coastal  forests  and  mountains  of  a  strange  land. 
Away  to  sea  on  the  starboard  side  she  saw  strange 
figures  with  mop-haired  heads;  some  had  curly,  dis- 
hevelled hair,  and  their  heads  sticking  out  of  the 
moon-lit  water  made  them  look  like  dusky  mermaids, 
distinctly  visible,  as  they  crawled  about  searching  for 
pearls  on  the  reefs.  They  were  not  mermaids.  They 
were  simply  Papuan  women  and  girls  and  men  search- 
ing for  beche-de-mer  in  the  shallow  waters. 

"Solo  bungo  mass!"  ("My  flower  of  life!")  whis- 
pered the  Papuan  skipper  into  her  ear.  He  had  ap- 
proached her  silently.  She  looked  up  into  his  face. 
The  pallor  of  her  own  face,  the  despair  in  her  blue 
eyes  as)  they  shone  with  intense  beauty  of  sorrow,  had 
no  effect  on  the  man  before  her.  Indeed,  her  despair 
only  increased  his  desire  to  get  her  completely  in 
his  power. 

"Cannot  I  stay  here?  Must  I  go?"  she  said  in  a 
voice  the  appeal  of  which  cannot  be  described.  The 
swarthy  man  was  staring  shoreward  at  his  native  land, 
a  half -wild  look  in  his  fiery  eyes  as  he  thought  of  the 
helplessness  of  the  trembling  victim  who  stood  beside 
him.  He  only  shook  his  head  in  reply,  then  gazed  into 
her  eyes  in  a  way  that  struck  terror  to  her  soul.  She 
knew  that  she  must  obey.  She  had  no  belongings  to 
pack,  and  so  in  a  few  moments  she  was  ready,  standing 
like  some  helpless  condamne  awaiting  the  fall  of  the 
guillotine. 

It  was  almost  a  relief  to  the  girl's  mind  to  hear  the 
sudden  clamouring  just  over  the  vessel's  side.  And 
as  she  looked  over  she  saw  dozens  of  strangely  orna- 
mented canoes  and  outriggers  crammed  with  mop- 
headed,  tattooed  savages. 

"Sowan!  Tiki,  soo,  Rajah!"  shouted  the  barbarian 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  247 

horde,  as  the  Rajah  looked  down  upon  them,  bowing 
grandiloquently  in  response  to  their  savage  salutations. 
For  the  Rajah  was  the  one  "quite  civilised"  man  of 
their  primitive  heathen  coastal  township,  and  so  looked 
upon  with  almighty  respect  by  his  fellows.  It  was  a 
momentous  event  in  the  life  of  the  population  of  the 
coastal  village  when  the  Bird  of  Paradise  came  in. 
The  Rajah  usually  dropped  anchor  leagues  away  to  the 
north,  near  the  Bismarck  Archipelago.  It  was  there 
that  he  usually  got  the  biggest  prices  for  his  freightage 
of  trembling  captives,  destined  for  the  slave  markets 
of  German  and  Dutch  New  Guinea.  But  the  Rajah 
on  the  present  occasion  was  in  a  mighty  hurry  to  get 
ashore,  so  he  had  decided  to  take  Gabrielle  with  him 
and  leave  his  mulatto  mate  to  sail  the  Bird  of  Paradise 
to  the  next  port  and  dispose  of  his  terrified  human 
cargo. 

When  Gabrielle  arrived  under  the  cover  of  night  on 
the  shores  of  that  barbarian  hut  city,  and  saw  the 
savage-looking  women  and  men  staring  at  her,  as 
tattooed  ndk'-clad  chiefs  shouted,  "Cowan!  to  mita 
putih  purumpuan!  ("Welcome  to  the  white  girl!") 
she  trembled  in  her  terror,  and  even  felt  glad  of  the 
Rajah's  presence  as  they  mobbed  her  and  pinched  her 
white  flesh  deliciously.  The  population  rushed  out  of 
their  huts  by  hundreds.  Hideous  old  tattooed  chiefs 
(bare  as  eggs  down  to  the  loins,  bone  ornaments  in 
their  ears)  moaned  and  blew  with  their  blubbery  lips 
as  they  spotted  her  whiteness.  The  deep-bosomed 
tawny  women  who  stood  beneath  the  sheltering  ivory- 
nut  palms  by  their  huts  stopped  their  unintelligible 
hubbub  as  the  Rajah  hurried  her  past. 

"Cowan!  The  Rajah!  The  Soo  Rajaaah!"  they 
shouted,  as  they  recognised  that  cultured  heathen  in 


248         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

civilised  attire,  the  great  squire,  the  lord  of  the  manor 
in  Tumba-Tumba.  The  news  spread  like  wildfire. 
' '  Cowan ! "  ( "  Friend ! " )  gabbled  the  girls,  women  and 
youths,  as  they  rushed  out  of  their  small  thatched 
homesteads  to  see  the  great  Rajah  and  the  beauti- 
ful putih  purumpuan.  The  thick-haired  half-caste 
Malayan  girls,  dancing  beneath  the  festival  palms, 
jingling  their  leglets  and  shell-threaded  armlets, 
stopped  chanting  to  see  so  unusual  a  sight.  They  laid 
their  hands  in  a  romantic  way  on  their  hearts  and 
sighed  out,  "0  wean  soo  loo,"  as  a  white  girl  with 
wondrous  golden  hair  tossing  to  the  breezes  was  hur- 
ried along  a  prisoner  in  the  Rajah's  loving  grip. 

On,  on  he  hurried.  The  tropic  moon  cast  a  weird 
light  over  the  barbarian  world  that  was  framed  by 
distant  mountains.  Nothing  but  mighty  brooding 
forest  haunted  with  mystery  and  uncouth  sounds  came 
into  view  for  miles  and  miles  as  Gabrielle  was  hustled 
along.  And  still  she  heard  the  low  chanting  salutations 
of  ' '  Cowan  le  soo ! ' '  floating  to  her  ears.  Then  came 
the  weird  sounds  of  the  tribal  bone  flutes  and  beating 
drums,  and  the  sudden  hush  as  she  passed  beneath  the 
rows  of  hanging  coco-nut-oil  lamps  of  some  festival 
ceremony.  Those  wild  people  had  often  seen  the  Rajah 
arrive  from  his  blackbirding  schooner  with  many  a 
trembling  victim  looking  up  into  his  eyes  for  mercy, 
but  never  had  they  seen  such  a  one  as  they  saw  that 
night.  They  marvelled'  at  the  glory  of  her  eyes,  the 
cataract  of  dishevelled  hair,  like  the  sunset  on  their 
mountains  off  Tumba-Tumba  (so  they  said).  Besides, 
all  the  previous  victims  were  tawny-hued  like  them- 
selves and  had  dark  eyes,  eyes  that  shone,  delightedly 
sometimes,  to  hear  the  acclamations  of  admiring  chiefs 
in  the  slave  markets.  But  the  girl  before  them  looked 


IN  NEW  GUINEA'  249 

wildly  beautiful  with  some  fright  that  they  knew 
nothing  of. 

As  Gabrielle  Everard  saw  their  repulsive,  blubbery 
lips,  the  yellowish,  hot-looking  eyes,  the  animalistic 
bodies  of  the  huge,  pendulous-breasted,  over-fed  chief- 
esses,  she  felt  a  tremendous  pang  strike  her  heart, 
in  the  thought  that  somewhere  back  in  the  past  she 
had  kinship  with  them.  As  she  heard  the  distant 
drums  in  the  mountains  a  strange  feeling  came  over 
her.  She  even  clutched  the  man's  hand  beside  her: 
she  half  fancied  that  those  beating  drums  were  the 
drums  that  she  had  heard  in  the  bungalow  away  in 
Bougainville  when  the  shadow  crept  into  her  bedroom. 

As  they  passed  under  the  banyan  groves  they  came 
to  a  large  group  of  huts  of  various  shapes  and  sizes. 
It  was  the  Rajah's  native  village. 

"Helaka!"  murmured  the  taiibadus  (chiefs),  and 
when  they  saw  Gabrielle  they  looked  with  surprise 
and  said:  "Dimdim  Wovou!"  ("White  foreigner!"). 

Gabrielle 's  bare  feet  were  bleeding  through  contact 
with  the  sharp  shingle  by  the  shore  reefs.  But  that 
didn't  worry  the  Rajah,  his  only  response  to  her  appeal 
that  he  would  go  slower  was  to  hurry  faster  than  ever. 
He  crossed  the  cleared  village  space  and  took  the  girl 
straight  to  his  domestic  tambu  temple.  "Tepiake!" 
grunted  the  taubadas  as  he  passed  through  the  thickly 
overgrown  bamboo  stockade.  He  had  now  arrived  at 
his  parental  residence,  a  kind  of  palatial  heathen  hall, 
where  his  own  people  resided  and  held  semi-Malayan 
fetishes  and  all  that  would  remind  them  of  their  past 
in  the  Malay  Archipelago.  As  Gabrielle  stood  before 
that  big  wooden  building  her  heart  sank.  She  was  too 
weary  to  say  much  to  the  man  beside  her.  She  hardly 
noticed  the  fiendish-looking  children  about  her  and 


250          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

the  ape-like  being  who  ran  out  from  the  palms  and 
danced  with  glee  before  her.  She  trembled  as  she 
looked  at  the  Rajah's  flushed  face  and  noticed  the 
change  in  his  manner.  She  saw  a  look  of  command 
in  his  eyes,  that  she  had  only  vaguely  felt  was  there 
before.  His  walk  had  become  majestic.  The  pleading 
obeisance  she  had  received  from  him  aboard  the  vessel 
had  disappeared.  He  behaved  like  one  who  had  com- 
plete authority  over  all  around  him  and  over  her  also. 
Her  feminine  instincts  awoke,  came  to  her  assistance 
immediately.  She  felt  that  she  was  utterly  alone  in 
that  awful  haunt  of  barbarism. 

"I'll  die  first!"  was  the  secret  resolution  of  her 
heart.  She  half  hated  herself  to  think  she  had  once  had 
her  arms  about  him  and  had  returned  his  embrace. 
He  had  looked  so  handsome,  so  god-like,  as  he  swore 
by  the  Christian  apostles  and  Jesus  Christ.  The  tears 
started  to  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  that  sinister  heathen 
homestead  as  it  loomed  before  her  by  the  light  of  a 
hundred  tiny  hanging  coco-nut  lamps.  She  thought 
of  her  father,  the  old  bungalow  in  Bougainville  and 
of  Hillary. 

The  sounds  of  the  barbarian  drums  seemed  to  make 
her  realise  with  terrible  vividness  the  almighty  sim- 
plicity of  the  apprentice's  love  for  her.  She  instinc- 
tively felt  that,  though  the  stranded  apprentice  had 
never  mentioned  the  apostles  or  Christ 's  name,  or  even 
God,  that  he  did  not  do  so  because  God  and  Christ 
spoke  for  him  in  the  great  silence  of  his  own  actions. 
And  as  she  remembered  these  things  she  stood  still,  her 
thoughts  far  away  across  the  seas.  She  forgot  the 
presence  of  the  wild,  staring  people  around  her.  Her 
spirit  leapt  into  Hillary's  arms,  she  looked  into  his 
eyes  and  asked  him  to  die  with  her.  The  hordes  of 


IN  NEW.  GUINEA  251 

savages,  the  pagan  huts,  the  feathery  palms  and  distant 
moon-lit  mountains  slowly  dissolved,  vanishing  like 
the  fabric  of  a  dreain.  She  did  not  hear  the  voice  of 
the  heathen  missionary  beside  her  as  he  spoke  in  his 
own  tongue  to  the  clamouring  hordes,  so  intense  were 
her  thoughts  as  she  dreamed  of  Hillary  and  all  that 
she  had  lost. 

Her  despair  was  so  bitter  that  she  hardly  cared  what 
might  happen  as,  like  one  awakening  from  a  dream  into 
the  light  of  miserable  reality,  she  mechanically  turned 
her  head  as  Koo  Macka  spoke  to  her. 

"Solan  putih  bunga,  my  Gabri-ar-le, "  he  muttered. 
Then  he  gripped  her  by  the  arm  and  led  her  under  the 
thatched  verandah  and  into  his  wooden  ancestral  halls. 

A  hideous,  baboon-like  woman  fell  on  her  knees  be- 
bore  the  Rajah  and  moaned  out : ' '  Solan,  soo  wa  eala ! ' ' 
Then  she  gazed  upon  the  girl  and  lifted  her  claw- 
like  hands  as  though  in  approval.  It  was  Macka 's 
old  mother.  Then  a  ferocious-looking  half-caste 
( Malay o  Papuan)  mop-headed  old  man  rose  from  his 
stinking  squatting-mat,  hobbled  forward  and  stared 
keenly  at  the  girl  as  she  stood  beneath  the  tiny  hanging 
lamps.  He  made  hideous  grimaces  as  he  inspected  her, 
touched  her  smooth  arms,  smelt  her  golden  hair,  put 
his  dirty  fingers  between  the  folds  of  her  torn  blue 
blouse  and  stared  at  the  whiteness  revealed  to  his 
eyes  through  the  divided  material.  And  all  the  time 
that  he  gazed  his  mouth,  emitted  betel-nut  juice  that 
dropped  down  on  to  his  tattooed,  hairy  breast. 

"Le  putih  purumpuan  bunga!"  ("O  flower  of  beau- 
tiful whiteness!")  he  groaned  out  in  his  Malayan 
lingo.  Then  he  too  turned  to  Macka,  and  by  his  ges- 
ticulations revealed  the  enormous  pride  he  felt  that  the 
Rajah  should  return  to  the  palatial  homestead  with  so 


252          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

wonderful  a  prize.  The  old  Malayan  chieftain  was  the 
Rajah's  esteemed  bapa  (father).  Though  he  was  old 
and  wrinkled,  it  was  evident  that  he  too  had  been 
handsome  in  his  day.  From  that  old  bapa  Maeka  had 
inherited  the  indescribable  sensualism  that  had  placed 
Gabrielle  in  her  awful  position. 

"Cowan,  wanoo,  wanoo  wooloo!"  he  seemed  to 
shout,  as  he  gazed  with  pride  on  his  hopeful  son.  Even 
the  Rajah  recognised  the  results  of  his  own  virtues  and 
swelled  his  chest,  put  his  arms  half  up  and  gaped  to 
hide  the  embarrassment  of  an  invisible  blush.  And 
why  shouldn't  old  bapa  be  proud  of  his  son?  Had  he 
not  listened  to  the  pleadings  of  the  German  missionary 
at  Astrolabe,  who  had  come  over  from  the  isles  of  the 
Bismarck  Archipelago? 

"O  great  bapa,"  said  the  missionary,  "take  thee 
this  little  Macka,  this  small  son  of  thine,  teach  unto 
him  the  Word  of  God,  rear  him  up  in  the  path  of  right- 
eousness, so  that  he  may  follow  the  divine  calling  and 
teach  thy  people  the  beauty  of  the  Western  creed ! ' ' 

And  old  bapa,  listening  to  that  good  German  mis- 
sionary's advice,  took  his  hand  and  said.:  "0  white 
papalagi  from  over  the  moan  all  (seas)  I  have  listened. 
And  I  say  unto  thee,  that  it  shall  be  as  thy  godly 
words  have  said."  Then  immediately  he  called  his 
son,  little  Macka,  from  his  idol  worship  in  the  tambu 
temple,  and,  laying  his  tawny  hand  on  the  boy 's  head, 
said :  "  0  my  son,  the  Fates  have  willed  on  thy  behalf 
that  thou  shalt  go  hence  across  the  big  waters  to 
Honolulu  and  be  educated  like  unto  a  noble  white  man. 
For,  I  say,  it  beseemeth  good  that  thou  shalt  grow  up 
and  be  one  good  missionary,  so  that  thou  mayst  guide 
thy  people  in  the  path  of  the  new  righteousness." 

So  spake  proud  old  bapa,  who  truly  had  his  son's 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  253 

interest  deep  in  his  heart.  The  result  was  that  soon 
after  the  German  tramp  steamer  Lubeck  sailed  from 
Am,  up  the  coast,  taking  the  boy  Macka  across  the 
seas  to  Honolulu.  And  as  the  boy's  years  increased 
the  missionaries  marvelled  that  so  bright  a  youth  had 
come  amongst  them,  for  he  was  clever  and  became  as 
one  of  them  in  learning.  Soon  Macka  became  head  of 

one  of  the  biggest  missionary  classes  at  K O . 

But  alas!  with  the  development  of  manhood  the  old 
instincts,  the  passions  developed  in  his  race  through 
centuries  of  tropical  desire,  burst  into  flame.  They 
were  not  to  be  overthrown  by  the  sad  aspirations  of  a 
few  old  missionaries  at  Honolulu.  Those  kind,  well- 
meaning  men  had  endeavoured  to  change  the  spots 
on  the  leopard's  back — in  vain!  For  what  was  the 
inevitable  result  of  their  life-long  pilgrimage  away 
from  their  native  lands  ?  This — there  stood  Macka 
once  more,  after  all  those  years,  back  in  his  native 
village,  the  personification  of  the  full-blooded  heathen 
attired  in  Western  garb,  with  a  white  girl  trembling 
beside  him,  looking  first  into  the  eyes  of  the  son,  then 
into  the  eyes  of  the  father.  And  still  the  drums  beat 
on.  And  still  far  away  over  the  seas  old  Pa  Everard 
wailed  through  his  delirium,  "My  Gabby!  My 
Gabby!"  till  the  asylum-keepers  at  Ysabel  soothed 
his  rum-stricken  nerves. 

"Ah!  ah!  koola,  Cowan!  my  faithful  son!  Thou 
art  indeed  the  joy  of  old  bapa's  soul!"  And  as  the 
old  father's  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  pride,  and  the 
hideous,  bloated  mother  waved  her  skinny  arms  with 
joy,  the  Rajah  bowed.  For  the  Rajah  was  a  good  and 
faithful  son,  and  had  repaid  his  parents  well  from  the 
proceeds  of  his  exertions  in  the  dangerous  slave  traffic. 


254          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

The  civilised  blackbirding  skipper  well  knew  that 
the  girl  was  now  utterly  in  his  power.  He  was  in  no 
hurry  to  further  his  wishes.  Indeed  he  was  the  first 
to  suggest  to  his  old  bapa  that  Gabrielle  should  stay 
with  them  till  the  final  arrangements  could  be  made 
that  would  chime  in  with  his  secret  desires. 

So  Gabrielle  Everard  actually  found  herself  living 
in  the  squalor  of  a  Malayo-Papuan  homestead  on  the 
coast  of  New  Guinea.  She  was  down  with  fever  for 
the  first  three  days.  Then  the  Rajah  came  into  her 
thickly  matted  chamber  (mats  denoted  that  the  visitor 
was  an  honoured  guest)  and  wailed  forth  his  hypo- 
critical vows. 

He  sobbed  to  see  her  lying  ill.  He  said  that  if 
anything  should  happen  to  her  he  would  fade  to  a 
shadow  and  die.  Then  he  rubbed  his  eyes  with  his 
big  coat-sleeve,  and  opened  a  little  bottle  of  medicine. 
The  foolish  girl,  sick  and  weak,  felt  that  perhaps  the 
man  had  a  heart  after  all — she  drank !  Then  he  whis- 
pered soft  words  into  her  ears,  but  she  did  not  listen. 

"Come  on,  putih  bunga!"  said  he.  She  rose  like 
one  in  a  dream,  and  he  led  her  away  to  the  great  tambu 
temple  that  stood  right  opposite  Macka's  ancestral 
halls.  It  was  a  wooden  building,  sheltered  by  enor- 
mous mahogany-trees. 

Only  the  devil  himself  could  adequately  describe  the 
deeper  meanings  of  the  ritual  of  the  tambu  houses  in 
New  Guinea. 

The  tambu  house  in  which  Gabrielle  found  herself 
was  a  low-roofed  apartment  about  forty  feet  long  and 
thirty  wide,  not  more  than  twelve  feet  in  height.  Its 
rows  of  windows  consisted  of  small  circles  cut  in  the 
wooden  walls,  something  after  the  style  of  port-holes 
in  a  ship.  It  was  lit  by  the  artificial  glimmer  of  coco- 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  255 

nut-oil  hanging  lamps,  which  seemed  only  to  add  to  its 
shadowy  mystery.  These  innumerable  oil  lamps,  hang- 
ing from  beams  over  the  wide  pae  pae  (stage  plat- 
form), were  for  the  prime  purpose  of  revealing  the 
attractions  of  the  half-caste  girls  who  regularly  per- 
formed at  the  tambu  fetishes.  These  girls  were  mostly 
Polynesians,  Arafuras,  Bugis,  Dyaks  and  a  bastard 
type  of  Chinese  and  Melanesian,  mostly  girls  who  had 
been  brought  to  the  coast  of  New  Guinea  by  the  black- 
birding  ships  when  they  had  been  children.  Such  was 
the  mixed  group  of  feminine  frailty  that  was  perform- 
ing and  dancing  when  Gabrielle  entered  the  tambu 
temple.  The  stage  walls  were  richly  decorated  with 
scarlet  and  white  hibiscus  blossom  that  hung  on  woven 
threads.  The  floors  were  thickly  covered  with  orna- 
mental matting.  On  the  walls  hung  the  revered  fetish 
ceremonial  implements  and  sacred  taboo  remnants, 
such  as — skulls,  old  men 's  beards,  dead  maidens '  hair, 
threaded  human  teeth  and  all  that  was  weirdly  sugges- 
tive of  death  and  orgyism.  The  front  of  the  wide 
stage  was  adorned  by  the  hideous  fetish  idols.  The 
middle  figure  was  about  eight  feet  high,  had  four  arms, 
and  seemed  to  be  carved  out  of  one  solid  lump  of  wood. 
It  had  one  mighty  yellow  tooth  issuing  from  the  carven 
mouth,  which  leered  in  an  everlasting  grin  that  did  not 
seem  out  of  place  when  the  grotesque  dances  were  in 
full  swing.  A  serpent-like  thing  was  twined  about 
its  wooden  arms  and  again  round  the  waists  of  the  two 
somewhat  smaller  images  that  stood  one  on  each  side 
of  it.  A  look  of  agony  was  wonderfully  expressed  by 
the  swollen  veins  on  the  chest,  arms  and  forehead,  as 
the  fanged  mouth  of  the  strong  embracing  reptile 
gripped  the  right  ear  of  that  symbolical  piece  of  New 
Guinea  sculptural  art.  It  represented  some  tragic 


256         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

legendary  Malayan  episode;  indeed  it  was  a  kind  of 
Laocoon  of  heathen-land ;  but  instead  of  being  clothed 
with  those  symbols  of  beauty  that  exalt  a  lump  of 
carven  insensate  wood  to  a  higher  state,  it  was  clothed 
with  symbols  of  ugliness  and  lust.  And  the  barbarian 
sculptor  who  had  achieved  this  revolting  but  still 
artistic  result  had  fashioned  the  idol  on  the  left-hand 
side  with  feminine  attributes  that  were  physically  ex- 
pressed from  the  full  wooden  lips  down  to  the  twisted 
ivory-nailed  toes  of  the  delicate  feet.  Notwithstanding 
the  allegorical  hint  of  sexuality  in  the  huge  middle 
figure  (its  hideous  character  was  intensified  by  Na- 
ture's artless  handiwork,  for  fat-bodied  green  palm 
worms  crawled  in  and  out  of  its  stretched  wooden  lips) , 
it  was1  a  truly  wonderful  bit  of  work;  it  stood  there 
telling  with  an  indisputable  voice  how  strong  a  force 
man 's  passions  often  are. 

Even  the  Rajah  had  the  grace  to  stand  between 
Gabrielle  and  that  monstrous  wooden  trio  as  they 
passed  them  by.  The  Rajah  was  getting  wary.  A 
look  in  Gabrielle 's  eyes  at  times  had  told  him  that  a 
fire  smouldered  in  her  soul.  And  once  while  on  board 
his  schooner  she  had  lifted  his  set  of  crockery  presented 
to  him  by  the  Astrolabe  German  Missionary  Society 
(together  with  an  illuminated  address)  and  smashed 
them  to  atoms  at  his  feet,  calling  him  such  names  as 
he  deserved.  As  for  the  tambu  dancers  who  stood  by 
the  idols  in  a  semi-nude  state,  armlets  and  leglets 
and  threaded  shells  jingling  on  their  moving  limbs, 
they  were  as  wonderful  in  their  way  as  the  South  Sea 
Laocoon.  For  in  some  unexplainable  way  they  did 
the  very  things  that  the  idol  so  hideously  expressed; 
yet  they  did  not  inspire  an  observer  with  that  artistic 
admiration  and  feeling  of  terror  which  the  idol  in- 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  257 

spired.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  love  of  life  that  burns 
so  fiercely  in  youth  and  her  newly  awakened  love  for 
Hillary — for  Gabrielle  still  believed  that  he  would 
cross  her  path  again — she  would  have  snatched  up  one 
of  the  barbarian  scimitars  that  lay  by  the  door-mats 
of  that  hellish  abode  and  dramatically  ended  her 
existence. 

Koo  Macka  had  fiercely  gripped  her  by  the  arm  as 
he  led  her  along  the  centre  transept.  The  rich  scents 
that  came  from  the  abundant  wreaths  of  exotic 
flowers  on  the  walls  and  in  calabashes  on  the  floor 
made  Gabrielle  feel  sick.  A  large,  black-winged  cock- 
atoo, with  its  right  foot  chained  to  a  small  pedestal 
on  which  it  stood,  looked  sideways  at  Gabrielle  and 
started  to  yell  its  discordant  language  in  a  most  vicious 
way  as  it  snapped  its  big  curved  beak.  It  was  evi- 
dently some  sacred  tambu  bird,  for  the  high  priest 
gazed  in  horror  as  the  bird  flapped  its  wings,  and 
glanced  up  and  down  at  Gabrielle 's  white  face  and 
golden-bronze  tresses  that  tumbled  over  her  shoulders. 

"Shut  up!"  yelled  the  Rajah.  In  a  moment  the 
bird  closed  its  wings  and  seemed  subdued.  This 
obedience  of  the  bird  to  the  will  of  the  Rajah  made  a 
great  impression  among  the  superstitious  throng.  The 
chanting  maids  and  tambu  chiefesses  lifted  their  thick- 
lipped  faces  and  shouted:  "Cowan!  Lao  Rajahah! 
a  loca  Laki,  putih  bunga  bini!"  (The  Rajah  has 
brought  unto  his  people  a  beautiful  flower-like  wife ! ") 

Hideous  stout  old  cannibals  lifted  coco-nut  goblets 
to  their  blubbery  lips  and  forcibly  expressed  by  hide- 
ous winks  and  squints  their  inward  thoughts  about  the 
white  girl's  beauty. 

It  must  indeed  have  been  a  novel  sight  to  see  that 
bronze-golden-haired  girl  led  towards  the  festival 
17 


258          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

altars  by  their  mighty  Kajah  Koo  Macka.  As  to  what 
the  girl  herself  was  thinking,  she  was  utterly  ignorant 
of  the  cause  of  the  hubbub  and  the  barbarian  cheering 
around  her.  The  liquor  that  had  been  forced  between 
her  lips  had  quite  dazed  her  brain.  As  Macka 's  old 
bapa  canie  forward  from  the  front  row  of  the  squatting 
audience  and  led  the  tambu  dancers  up  to  the  stage, 
Gabrielle  only  stared  as  one  stares  on  a  strange  scene 
in  a  dream.  She  didn't  move  a  muscle  as  rows  of 
mop-headed  Papuan,  Malayan  and  half-caste  girls 
stood  in  a  row  and  then  threw  their  limbs  about  till 
the  treduca  shells  made  music  that  harmonised  with 
the  lewdness  displayed  before  her  happily  uncon- 
scious eyes. 

It  was  only  when  the  Rajah  stepped  forward,  attired 
in  full  civilised  costume  that  proclaimed  him  a  member 
of  New  Guinea  Rajahship,  that  the  girl  began  to 
tremble.  The  large  scarlet  waist-sash,  the  magnificent, 
coiled-up  turban  and  the  robe  that  fell  to  his  feet  only 
made  him  appear  the  more  terrifying  to  her  eyes. 

In  a  moment  he  had  seized  her  by  the  wrist.  And 
in  her  helpless  terror  she  did  all  that  he  demanded  of 
her — lifted  her  arms  to  the  roof,  chanted  and  sang  a 
song  with  strange  words  in  a  strange  tongue.  Just 
by  her  side  sat  a  raving  old  tiki-priest;  he  was  the 
finest  bit  of  hideousness  extant;  even  the  big  wooden 
idol  before  which  he  repeatedly  prostrated  himself  had 
pleasant  features  compared  to  that  living  representa- 
tive of  the  tambu  temple  creed. 

Directly  he  had  finished  his  weird  incantations  and 
hollow-voiced  acclamations  he  made  the  tribal  sign 
to  the  handsome  Rajah,  who  thereupon  immediately 
stooped  and  kissed  Gabrielle,  first  on  the  mouth,  then 
on  her  feet,  as  he  fell  prone  before  her.  Then  he  rose, 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  259 

looked  into  her  eyes  and  began  to  chant.  To  his 
astonishment  the  girl  looked  up  at  him,  a  half  smile 
on  her  sad  face  as  she  swayed  her  flower-bedecked  form 
and  began  to  swerve  with  inimitable  grace  to  the  tum- 
tum  of  the  barbarian  orchestra.  She  lifted  her  hands 
to  the  wooden  ceiling,  softly  chanting  an  old  Malayan 
melody  that  neither  they  nor  she  had  ever  heard  before. 
The  music  of  her  voice  seemed  to  hold  the  wild  audi- 
ence spellbound.  And  when  the  girl  put  forth  her 
hands  and  responded  in  a  wonderful  way  to  the  mysti- 
cal passes  of  the  Rajah's  small,  womanish  hands,  the 
whole  motley  crew  waved  their  dusky  arms  in  delight. 
The  dancing  maidens  threw  their  limbs  in  envious 
rapture,  and  tried  in  vain  to  imitate  the  rhythmical 
grace  of  Gabrielle's  trance-like  movements.  For  all 
their  wild  acts,  and  the  jingle  of  their  brass  and  bone 
leglets  and  armlets  as  they  made  their  wretched  limb- 
tossings,  their  performance  was  as  nothing  compared 
to  the  white  girl's  wondrous  grace. 

As  Gabrielle  stopped  and  stared  at  the  dusky  horde 
of  raised  faces  and  tossing  limbs  beneath  rows  of  hang- 
ing lamps,  she  seemed  to  awaken  from  her  trance-like 
state.  She  raised  her  hands  and  gave  a  cry.  The  whole 
audience,  who  thought  that  cry  was  an  exclamation 
expressing  some  ecstasy  of  the  moment,  renewed  their 
volleys  of  applause.  Only  the  Rajah  knew  the  truth, 
the  meaning  of  that  cry.  He  hurried  forward,  gripped 
the  girl's  hand,  breathed  hotly  in  her  face  and  mur- 
mured, ' '  Come,  Bini,  mine !  Wife ! ' '  Then  the  Rajah 
gave  a  start.  Above  the  guttural  cries  of  the  tambu 
marriage  assembly  one  voice  had  begun  to  ring  out 
shrill  and  clear.  It  was  the  voice  of  Maroshe,  the 
Rajah 's  long-cast-off  tribal  wife.  She  had  been  a  beau- 
tiful Koiari  maid  when  the  Rajah,  who  was  ten  years 


260          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

her  senior,  had  first  wooed  her.  But  her  feminine 
attractions  had  been  cruelly  brief.  The  girls  of  the 
Papuan  races  leap  into  full-blown  womanhood  at  four- 
teen, and  at  twenty -five,  sometimes  earlier,  have  appar- 
ently reached  old  age,  their  brows  and  cheeks  being 
seared  with  wrinkles.  But  Maroshe  still  had  a  rem- 
nant of  the  old  fire  gleaming  in  her  fine  eyes.  But  it 
was  a  fire  that  boded  no  good  for  the  amorous  Macka 
as  she  stood  amidst  the  motley  audience  and  yelled: 
"Tao  se  cowana  tumbi!"  (May  the  gods  send  thee 
twins!) 

Macka  heard  that  voice.  %It  was  the  one  voice  on 
earth  that  could  echo  into  the  depths  of  his  soul  and 
awaken  a  tinge  of  remorse  in  him.  Indeed,  as  he 
gripped  Gabrielle's  wrist  he  looked  against  his  will 
across  the  tiers  of  uplifted  dusky  faces  till  his  eyes 
met  the  magnetic  glance  of  the  scorned  Maroshe. 
Again  she  held  her  hand  mockingly  aloft,  and  once 
more  yelled:  "Tao  se  cowana  tumbil"  The  tambu 
maidens  ceased  dancing,  and  stood  with  fingers  to  lips 
beneath  the  rows  of  hanging  lamps.  They  knew 
Maroshe,  and  also  knew  that  something  in  her  voice 
revealed  the  fact  that,  after  all,  she  still  retained  her 
old  love  for  the  Rajah.  The  huge  wooden  idol,  its 
big  eyes  agog,  was  the  only  face  that  did  not  express 
the  horror  that  seemed  to  transfix  every  heathen 
countenance. 

Suddenly  Maroshe  waved  her  skinny  hand  thrice. 
Then  at  the  sight  of  her  late  husband  standing  there 
with  a  new  bride,  and  a  white  girl  to  boot,  she  lowered 
her  wrinkled  but  still  half-beautiful  face  and  disap- 
peared. Macka  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  to  see  her  go. 

Suddenly  the  audience  seemed  to  be  awakened  from 
their  horrified  stupor.  "Bang!  To  woomb!"  It 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  261 

was  the  sound  of  a  monstrous  heathen  drum  banged 
twice  only,  somewhere  in  a  mountain  village. 

Once  more  the  Rajah  gripped  Gabrielle  by  the  wrist. 
"Come,  my  pretty  putih  bunga!" 

According  to  the  ceremonial  rites  of  the  creeds  of 
Tumba-Tumba,  Gabrielle  Everard  was  now  Macka's 
wife.  That  orgy  of  lust,  toddy  and  heathen  seraglio 
chanting  and  dances  was  a  genuine  old-time  New 
Guinea  marriage  ceremony. 

Gabrielle  hardly  realised  all  that  it  meant  for  her. 
She  placed  her  hand  to  her  brow  and  stared  as  though 
she  gazed  on  some  strange  sight  afar  off.  The  village 
priests  and  darah  tiki-tiki  enchanters  and  enchantresses 
beat  their  skinny  breasts  to  show  their  appreciation 
of  the  bride's  beauty.  Such  an  honour  had  never 
been  theirs  before;  for  had  they  not  been  the  means 
of  binding  a  beautiful  white  maid  in  marriage  bonds 
to  one  of  their  own  race. 

Directly  the  Rajah  got  Gabrielle  outside  the  tambu 
house  he  pressed  hot  kisses  on  her  face.  She  struggled 
in  that  embrace.  Her  cries  brought  hordes  of  dusky, 
imp-like  girls  and  mop-headed  youths  on  to  the  scene. 
He  desisted  in  his  matrimonial  advances.  In  a  moment 
he  had  decided  to  take  her  to  his  old  bapa. 

As  Gabrielle  once  more  prepared  to  enter  the  Rajah 's 
homestead,  old  bapa,  and  his  hideous,  baboon-like  wife, 
rushed  forth  from  the  palms  just  behind,  and  threw 
wedding  gifts  of  a  suggestive  nature  upon  the  trem- 
bling girl.  After  they  had  been  in  the  presence  of 
old  bapa  for  some  little  time,  the  Rajah  altered  his 
mind,  and  throwing  his  body  on  the  sacred  mats  of 
his  father's  home  expressed  a  wish  to  leave  the  parental 
roof  and  take  his  bride  up  to  his  own  private  establish- 
ment in  the  mountains  (two  miles  off),  a  place  where 


262          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

he  had  taken  so  many  victims  who  had  fallen  under  the 
lure  of  his  university  education  and  the  glory  of  the 
Christian  apostles. 

As  the  Rajah  once  more  went  forth,  taking  hia 
pretty  putih  bini  up  the  little  village  track  that  led 
under  the  feathery  palms  and  ivory-nut  trees,  he  gazed 
upon  Gabrielle  's  form  as  only  Macka  the  ex-missionary 
could  gaze.  At  last  they  arrived  outside  a  large 
wooden  building  (made  of  thick,  rough-hewn  mahog- 
any logs)  situated  on  the  lower  slopes  of  the  Tomba- 
Tomba  Mountains. 

The  Rajah  at  once  took  Gabrielle  within.  Heaven 
only  knows  what  the  white  girl  went  through  before 
the  Rajah  realised  that  it  was  no  brown  woman  he 
had  in  his  vile  power.  There  had  been  considerable 
trouble  before  he  was  finally  vanquished  and  sent  about 
his  business;  he  had  done  his  best  before  leaving  to 
become  friendly  with  the  girl  again.  He  knew  by  her 
desperate  act  in  jumping  overboard  on  the  Bird  of 
Paradise  that  she  was  quite  likely  to  attempt  to  take 
her  life  again.  The  look  in  her  eyes  spoke  volumes  to 
him.  He  told  off  two  of  the  old  ki-ki  chiefs,  ordering 
them  to  keep  strict  watch  over  that  wooden  building 
where  she  was  imprisoned.  So  the  two  barbarian 
sentinels  grunted  and  smoked  by  the  door  and  Gabri- 
elle lay  down  on  the  thick  sleeping  mats  and  tried 
to  rest. 

On  the  second  night  the  Rajah  once  more  crept  into 
her  chamber.  He  fell  on  his  knees.  He  swore  she 
was  his  beloved  spouse  in  the  eyes  of  God  and  the 
heathen  apostles  of  his  own  heathen  land.  He  began 
chanting  and  making  weird  passes,  swearing  all  the 
while  that  the  idols  of  the  tambu  temple  had  been 
placed  in  the  glow  of  the  moonbeams  and  had  spoken. 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  263 

"They  have  teller  me  to  come  to  thee.  They  say 
that  you  must  giver  yourself  up  to  me  and  to  my  gods. 
You  understand?" 

Gabrielle  looked  in  wonder  at  the  man  as  he  fell 
at  her  feet,  groaning  and  wailing.  He  even  wept. 
She  saw  the  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  Gabri-e-arle.  I  lover  th-ee.  Thou  art  my  own, 
my  putih  bunga,"  he  repeated  over  and  over  again. 
He  pressed  hot  kisses  on  her  face.  But  the  girl  strug- 
gled and  overcame  him.  Then  he  diverted  her  atten- 
tron  and  swiftly  placed  his  old  ki-ki  drugs  in  her 
water  goblet.  Drugging  was,  and  is,  the  highest  art 
in  New  Guinea,  and  so  he  had  little  fear  of  the  results 
not  being  according  to  his  requirements.  Then  he  went 
away.  He  had  not  been  gone  an  hour  before  Gabrielle 
was  startled  by  hearing  the  sound  of  jabbering  outside 
the  tambu  door.  She  could  distinctly  hear  a  pleading 
voice,  as  though  some  native  woman  wailed  and  talked 
to  the  sentinels.  Then  the  silence  returned,  but  to  her 
surprise  the  tappa  curtains  of  her  little  chamber  were 
suddenly  thrown  aside,  and  a  strange-looking  native 
woman  stood  before  her.  It  was  Maroshe,  the  late 
divorced !  She  held  no  stilleto  in  her  hand.  No  malig- 
nant gleam  of  hatred  shone  in  her  eyes ;  only  a  weary 
look  of  sorrow  as  she  stood  before  Gabrielle.  The 
unexpected  visitor  fell  on  her  knees  and  at  once  began 
to  chant  and  mumble  mysteriously,  as  though  she 
thought  Gabrielle  understood  all  the  magic  of  her  land. 

Gabrielle  noticed  the  note  of  appeal  in  her  voice. 
She  at  once  took  heart  and  bade  her  rise. 

"What's  the  matter?  What  you  want?"  said 
Gabrielle,  as  she  tried  to  speak  to  the  wailing  woman 
in  pidgin-English  and  made  many  gesticulations.  At 
last  the  white  girl  seemed  to  understand. 


264          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

It  was  wonderful  how  swiftly  the  souls  of  two  women 
of  different  races  fathomed  each  other's  secrets,  peered 
into  each  other's  eyes  and  read  all  that  they  wanted 
to  read. 

Gabrielle's  sorrow  had  probably  brought  to  the  fore 
the  old  instincts  with  which  Nature  originally  endowed 
the  human  races  so  that  they  might  scent  danger  be- 
fore it  was  actually  upon  them. 

Maroshe  it  seemed  could  speak  a  little  pidgin-Eng- 
lish, and  so  the  two  women  were  able  before  long  to 
understand  the  exact  position  of  things.  Then  the 
native  girl,  for  she  was  not  much  more  than  a  girl, 
kissed  Gabrielle's  hands,  fell  prone  and  touched  her 
feet  in  grovelling  subjection.  Tears  came  into  Gabri- 
elle's eyes  as  she  realised  the  woman's  sorrow  and 
observed  the  swift  glance  of  delight  in  her  eyes  as  she 
heard  that  she,  the  white  girl,  was  a  most  unwilling 
prisoner  in  the  tambu  marriage  chamber.  "I  comer 
gain.  Me  goer  now,  nicer,  whi  ladi.  You  no  putih 
bunga.  Ah ! ' '  she  said. 

Before  Gabrielle  had  realised  that  the  woman  was 
going,  Maroshe  had  slipped  out  of  the  door.  But  she 
came  again,  and  under  circumstances  that  Gabrielle 
never  cared  to  recall. 

The  next  night  the  Rajah  returned  again  to  the 
solitary  building  by  the  mountains  of  Tomba-Tomba. 
He  sent  his  chieftain  sentinels  away  to  their  huts. 
He  stooped  his  turbaned  head  as  he  entered  the  low 
doorway,  and  approached  the  girl  with  the  old  fascinat- 
ing look  in  his  fiery\  eyes.  With  the  almighty  deceit 
of  his  race  he  told  her  he  had  relented,  and  would  take 
her  back  to  Bougainville.  He  made  her  heart  leap  with 
hidden  delight  as  he  talked.  His  voice  seemed  tender 
as  a  woman's  as  he  poured  forth  his  semi-Mohamme- 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  265 

danistic  vers  libre.  Again  he  knelt  before  her,  as  a 
bigot  heathen  might  kneel  before  an  idol,  and  stared 
into  her  blue,  frightened  eyes. 

Gabrielle,  as  though  in  a  trance,  felt  his  caressing 
hands;  they  seemed  shadow  hands  as  his  burning 
words  crept  into  her  ears.  She  heard  the  winds  sigh 
outside  in  the  mountain  palms.  She  and  he  were  alone. 

" Gabri-ar-le !  thou  art  more  than  life  itself;  the 
moon,  the  stars,  thou  art ;  and  like  unto  the  stars  shall 
our  children  be!"  he  murmured  in  Biblical  tones  as 
he  returned  to  the  lingo  of  the  old  mission-room.  Only 
the  chantings  of  the  cicalas  in  the  ivory-nut  palms 
disturbed  the  silence.  Gabrielle  felt  the  strength  of 
those  strong  hands,  the  warm  breath  of  those  terrible 
lips.  A  mist  came  before  her  eyes ;  she  heard  the  wild 
tribal  drums  beating  across  the  centuries!  The 
Papuan's  voice  sounded  far  off;  a  shadowy  figure  had 
whipped  across  the  rush-matted  floor  as  the  lamps 
burnt  dimly  with  a  magic  light.  And  still  the  drums 
were  beating  as  though  in  impatient  haste  across  the 
centuries.  And  still  her  soul  struggled  as  she  fearfully 
watched  for  that  which  her  eyes  had  surely  seen; 
then,  once  again,  the  tappa  curtains  that  separated  her 
chamber  from  the  door  that  led  straight  to  the  jungle 
outside  seemed  to  divide  softly.  She  could  not  scream 
as  that  terrible  thing  peeped  between  the  divided 
curtains,  its  burning  eyes  staring  upon  her.  Its  beau- 
tiful woman's  head  was  faintly  visible.  The  eyes 
gleamed  with  rapture  as  the  enchantress  from  the  past 
stared  appealingly,  beckoned  to  the  white  girl,  nodded 
her  dusky  head  and  besought  Gabrielle  to  do  her  bid- 
ding! Gabrielle  stared  wildly  round.  Only  she  and 
the  terrible  enchantress  faced  one  another  which- 
ever way  her  eyes  turned.  She  still  peeped  beneath  the 


266          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

uplifted  curtains — now  she  had  begun  to  crawl  on  her 
belly  like  unto  a  serpent.  Tears  were  in  the  shadow 
woman's  eyes!  And  still  Gabrielle  heard  the  drums 
beating  across  the  mountains,  coming  across  the  silent 
hills  of  sleep.  And  still  the  struggle  went  on.  The 
phantom  woman  crawled  slowly  beneath  the  tappa  cur- 
tain as  the  white  girl  watched.  She  noticed  the  beauty 
of  the  smooth,  oily,  terra-cotta-hued  limbs,  the  curved, 
sensuous  thighs.  At  last  the  visitant  lifted  her  beauti- 
ful shadowy  head,  and  began  slowly  to  rise  to  her  feet 
as  the  tappa  curtain  fell  softly.  She  had  entered 
Gabrielle *s  chamber!  A  shadow  fell  across  the  girl's 
pallid,  terror-stricken  face,  darkening  her  eyes.  She 
groped  in  terrible  blindness,  just  for  a  moment,  then 
pushed  it  from  her.  She  recognised  the  terrible  pres- 
ence and  recalled  in  a  flash  how  she  had  mastered  it 
when  it  had  come  to  her  in  the  dead  of  night  in  her 
bedroom,  at  her  old  home  in  Bougainville.  She  fell  on 
her  knees  and  prayed.  She  wrestled  with  the  evil  pres- 
ence in  an  indescribable  agony  of  spirit.  And  then, 
quite  suddenly,  the  enchantress  who  had  crept  oiit  of 
the  jungle  of  the1  past  gave  a  wail — and  vanished. 

Gabrielle  stared  round  her.  The  perspiration  was 
dropping  from  her  brow ;  she  was  trembling  from  head 
to  foot.  She  was  alone!  The  Rajah,  too,  had  seen 
that  look  in  her  eyes  and  had  disappeared.  In  a 
moment  she  had  recovered  her  senses.  She  rushed  into 
the  little  off-room  where  she  slept,  and  in  two  seconds 
was  hastily  piling  up  the  mahogany  boxes  and  huge 
native  clubs  against  the  door,  so  that  none  could  enter 
without  her  knowledge.  Then  she  lay  on  her  rush- 
matted  bed  and  thanked  God. 

For  now  she  realised  instinctively,  with  a  force 
amounting  to  certainty,  that  never  again  would  she  be 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  267 

haunted  by  this  shadow  woman — her  dark  ancestress 
from  the  past.  Gabrielle  knew  that  that  struggle  in 
the  tambu  house  had  meant  for  her  a  complete  spiritual 
victory.  The  evil  spirit  had  been  exorcised. 

Perhaps  also  it  meant  something  more.  Perhaps  it 
symbolised  a  physical  triumph  over  Rajah  Macka  and 
his  heathen  desires.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  she  no 
longer  felt  the  same  fear  of  him  which  had  possessed 
her  on  board  the  ship.  She  was  trying  to  persuade 
herself  that,  after  all,  he  was  only  a  grotesque  heathen, 
eaten  up  with  his  own  conceit.  And  these  thoughts, 
or  something  like  them,  were  stirring  in  her  mind  when 
she  finally  fell  asleep. 

Gabrielle  had  been  a  close  prisoner  in  the  private 
tambu  house  for  just  eight  days  before  the  Rajah  came 
to  her  again.  The  girl  had  almost  recovered  from  the 
shock  of  that  terrible  visitant  from  the  past  and  the 
Rajah's  advances.  Indeed,  she  had  bribed  one  of  the 
sentinel  chiefs  by  giving  him  a  tortoise-shell  comb  from 
her  hair,  and  so  had  received  valuable  information. 
She  had  discovered  that  there  were  several  white  set- 
tlers residing  in  the  villages  by  Astrolabe  Bay,  some 
twenty-five  miles  round  the  coast.  And  so  she  had  re- 
solved to  take  flight  at  the  first  opportunity,  and  risk 
death  in  the  wild  coastal  forest  in,  a  last  attempt  to 
secure  the  help  of  civilised  men. 

Sunset  had  sunk  over  the  mountains  as  she  sat  hol- 
low-eyed and  miserable  in  her  prison  chamber.  Gabri- 
elle could  hear  the  terrible  tiki  priests  chanting  and 
beating  drums  to  their  great  god  Urio  Moquru,  whose 
mortal  power  was  represented  in  monstrous  carven 
wood  somewhere  near  the  sacred  banyans  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountains. 


268          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

Suddenly  the  Rajah  entered  her  chamber.  A  fierce, 
unearthly  look  gleamed  in  his  eyes.  He  did  not  ap- 
proach her  in  his  usual  oblique  fashion ;  he  caught  her 
by  the  arm  and  began  to  whisper  fierce  words  in 
her  ears: 

"Bini  mine!  You  are  mine!  I  curse  your  race, 
curse  your  apostles,  your  Christ  and  all  that  you 
damnable  Christians  believe  in ! " 

The  girl  stood  trembling.  What  had  happened,  she 
wondered.  A  new  feeling  of  hope  flashed  through  her 
misery  as  the  man  continued  to  blaspheme  and  rave. 

Gabrielle  knew  nothing  about  the  schooner  that  had 
anchored  off  the  village  of  Tumba-Tumba  that  after- 
noon. But  the  Rajah  knew.  He  had  watched  the 
obstinate  tacking  of  the  schooner  for  three  hours  that 
afternoon  as  it  persistently  hugged  the  coast.  And 
his  apprehensions  had  been  increased  when  it  had 
finally  anchored  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
shore  where  his  own  vessel  the  Bird  of  Paradise  lay. 
For  the  blackbirding  craft  had  returned  the  day  before 
from  the  Bismarck  Archipelago,  after  disposing  of  its 
remaining  living  freight  in  the  various  slave  markets. 
There  was  little  doubt  in  Macka's  mind  as  to  why  that 
craft  was  hugging  the  coast.  He  knew  what  white 
men  were  like  in  their  wrath,  and  what  they  were  likely 
to  do  when  they  discovered  that  a  girl  of  their  own 
race  had  been  kidnapped  in  the  same  manner  that  they 
themselves  had  kidnapped  thousands  of  natives. 
He  knew  that  old  Everard,  drunkard  though  he  was, 
would  develop  a  mighty  virtue  when  he  discovered 
that  his  own  daughter  had  met  a  kidnapping  fate! 
He  knew  also  that  many  of  the  Papuans  and  half-castes 
of  the  Solomon  Isles  had  sailed  with  him  on  his  black- 
birding voyages,  and  so  knew  him  for  a  blackbirder 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  269 

by  night  and  a  noble  missionary  by  day.  And,  realis- 
ing that  those  old  shipmates  of  his  would  give  him 
away  for  a  bribe,  he  had  come  to  Gabrielle  with  the 
intention  of  taking  her  farther  along  the  coast.  He 
was  determined  not  to  give  her  up  after  all  his  trouble 
and  scheming. 

"  Gabri-ar-le,  I  comer  you,  for  I  wanter  you  to  fly 
away  from  here.  I  go  forth  before  dawn,  we  go  to- 
gether to  Arfu  where  I  have  many  friends  and  can 
make  you  great  princess, ' '  said  he,  lapsing  in  his  fright 
into  the  old  pidgin-English. 

A  look  of  horror  leapt  into  the  girl 's  eyes. 

"You  promised — you  know  what  you've  promised 
about  my  going  home  to  my  father  again?"  she 
murmured. 

The  man  turned  his  face  away.  Even  he  seemed 
ashamed  as  he  turned  aside  and  looked  through  the 
door  out  into  the  night.  He  put  forth  his  hands  in  a 
pleading  way:  "Gabri-ar-le,  you  must,  must  come, 
I  will » 

He  said  no  more.  He  turned  his  head  and  then 
rushed  to  the  door.  What  was  that  gabbling  ?  A  mob 
of  curious  natives,  all  excited  and  murmuring  in  a 
hubbub  of  expectation,  were  evidently  coming  up  the 
track  that  led  to  the  quiet  tambu  house. 

' '  What 's  that  noise  ?  Who  are  you  fetching  here  ? ' ' 
shouted  Gabrielle,  as  she  heard  the  sounds  coming 
nearer  and  nearer. 

Then  he  heard  it  again — it  was  a  sound  that  came  to 
Macka's  ears  like  the  trump  of  doom! — and  to  the 
girl's  ears  like  the  voice  of  an  angel.  It  was  the  sound 
of  a  big  voice  shouting  in  her  own  tongue,  the  Eng- 
lish language : 

''By  the  gods  of  this  b cannibal  isle,  I'll  pul- 


270         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

verise  him  to  dust !  Macka !  Macka !  Where  art  thou, 
old  missionary  of  the  South  Seas  ?  I  'm  yer  man ! ' ' 

The  Rajah  turned  a  ghastly  yellowish  hue.  He 
made  a  rush  but  he  was  too  late — Gabrielle  caught  him 
by  the  coat  and  tripped  him  up.  He  fell  headlong 
to  the  floor. 

A  mighty  wind  like  the  first  breath  of  warning  from 
a  tornado  seemed  to  blow  as  a  hoarse  voice,  vibrant 
with  pent-up  emotion,  said :  ' '  In  there,  say  ye !  You 
god-damned  heathen ! ' ' 

Gabrielle  stared,  petrified  with  astonishment;  there 
before  her  stood  the  big  rude  man  who  had  disturbed 
Hillary  and  herself  when  she  sat  singing  on  the  banyan 
bough  by  the  lagoon  in  Bougainville.  If  she  was 
surprised,  it  is  certain  that  Rajah  Koo  Macka  was. 
He  thought  that  the  world  had  tumbled  on  his  tur- 
baned  head  as  he  fell.  He  struggled  to  his  feet,  and 
rushed  outside  the  door  of  the  tambu  house. 

' '  Stand  up ! "  said  Samuel  Bilbao,  confronting  him 
quite  calmly  as  he  began  to  tuck  up  his  coat  sleeves. 
Hillary,  who  had  made  a  rush  for  Macka,  was  stayed 
by  Gabrielle 's  hand.  She  had  rushed  forward  and 
leapt  into  his  arms.  The  attitude  of  the  big  Britisher 
as  he  stood  there,  cool  as  a  cucumber,  as  calm  as 
though  he  stood  on  a  village  green  in  England  pre- 
paring to  exchange  fisticuffs  in  a  five  minutes'  contest, 
made  every  onlooker  step  back  and  form  a  half-circle 
behind  Ulysses's  back. 

"Put  your  fists  up,  Macka  mine!  Old  Macka  the 
missionary!"  yelled  Ulysses,  as  he  struck  the  clasp- 
knife  from  the  man 's  hand  and  threw  it,  plop !  like  a 
tennis  ball  into  the  cook's  hand.  The  rest  of  the  Sea 
Foam's  crew  stood  just  behind,  fronting  the  huddled 
natives  in  the  shade  of  the  stunted  ivory-nut  palms. 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  271 

Some  had  revolvers  in  hand  ready  to  obey  Bilbao  their 
esteemed  skipper's  wishes. 

The  Rajah  made  a  desperate  rash  towards  the  white 
man.  He  saw  that  his  only  chance  was  to  escape 
through  the  throng  that  had  encircled  him  as  he  stood 
there  hesitating. 

No  mercy  shone  in  the  depths  of  those  clear,  grey, 
English  eyes;  no  sympathetic  gleam  for  the  swarthy 
coward  who  defiled  girls,  kidnapped  husbands,  wives, 
lovers  and  children,  yet  had  not  the  courage  to  stand 
up  and  protect  himself  from  the  fists  of  a  white  man. 

Ulysses  stood  with  shoulders  thrown  back,  and  as 
the  winds  from  the  mountains  blew  his  yellowish 
moustache-ends  backwards,  till  they  almost  touched  his 
shoulder  curves,  he  looked  a  veritable  Nemesis  in 
dungaree  pants  and  dilapidated  helmet-hat.  But  a 
more  relentless  Nemesis  lurked  in  the  shadows  of  the 
jungle,  waiting  to  put  the  finishing  touch  to  the 
Papuan  Rajah's  sinister  career.  It  was  Maroshe,  his 
long-ago,  cast-oft'  wife,  the  Koiari  maid  into  whose  ears 
he  had  once  breathed  the  sacred  ritual  vows,  when  he 
was  in  love  with  her. 

She  had  been  the  most  eager  to  give  Bilbao  the  in- 
formation he  and  Hillary  sought  on  first  coming  ashore 
in  that  village  at  sunset.  She  had  quickly  understood 
why  the  white  men  were  so  anxious  to  get  information 
concerning  the  Rajah's  whereabouts.  She  knew  that 
they  were  seeking  the  white  girl — her  rival !  The  sud- 
den turn  of  affairs  had  made  her  chuckle  with  delight. 
"The  gods  are  kind  to  me,"  she  had  said  to  herself. 
She  had  intended  that  very  night  to  creep  into  the 
Rajah's  sleeping-chamber  and  deal  with  him  accord- 
ing to  the  old  prescribed  rites  of  her  creed,  which 
had  a  special  punishment  for  those  who  dare  trample 


272         GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

on  a  maiden's  vows.  She  had  followed  Bilbao  and  the 
crew  stealthily  up  the  track.  She  even  heard  Gabri- 
elle  's  astonished  cry  before  she  rushed  into  her  own  hut 
and  made  her  secret  preparations.  And  now  she  lay 
close  in  the  shade  of  the  jungle,  prone  on  her  belly 
like  some  half -reptilian,  half-human  creature,  as  she 
watched  her  old  lover  tremble  before  the  glance  of 
the  stern  papalagi.  She  held  a  goblet  in  her  skinny 
hand;  it  was  half  filled  with  a  dark  fluid.  On  she 
crawled,  hand  over  hand  and  knee  over  knee,  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  spot  where  Macka  and  Ulysses  faced 
one  another.  She  chuckled,  half-woefully,  at  the 
thought  of  this  dramatic  opportunity  which  would  give 
her  her  long-desired  revenge.  The  Fates  had  willed  it 
so.  She  had  once  really  loved  that  man,  and  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  have  approached  him  whilst  he  slept 
in  his  old  bapa's  tambu  house.  And  there  he  was, 
standing  in  the  presence  of  the  white  girl  whose 
beauty  inspired  her  with  courage  to  give  him  the 
sacred  draught. 

"Calre!"  (Splendid!)  she  murmured,  as  her  stiff 
limbs  twinged  and  she  began  to  hurry  on,  seeing  the 
beautiful  white  girl  standing  there,  her  pretty  mouth 
open,  her  blue  eyes  staring  as  the  men  of  two  races 
faced  each  other.  Once  more  her  wrinkled  body  moved 
on,  softly  brushing  aside  the  scented  frangipanni  blos- 
soms and  cinnamon  grass.  She  was  now  within  twelve 
yards  of  the  trembling  Macka.  In  a  moment  she  had 
leapt  to  her  feet,  and  made  a  running  jump  across  the 
hollow  village  ditch  that  separated  her  from  the 
two  men. 

"Holy  Moses!"  yelled  Ulysses,  as  an  apparition 
seemed  to  appear  before  him.  He  dodged,  making  sure 
that  Maroshe  was  going  for  him. 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  273 

Gabrielle,  recognising  the  strange  native  woman  who 
had  come  to  her  in  the  tambu  house  a  few  nights  be- 
fore, gave  a  cry  of  astonishment. 

Hillary,  who  still  held  his  coat  in  his  hand,  itching 
to  get  at  Macka,  and  had  just  begged  Gabrielle  to 
let  him  go,  gasped  in  wonder.  He  made  sure  that  the 
figure  that  had  leapt  out  of  the  jungle  was  the  phantom 
creature  whom  he  had  heard  Gabrielle  talk  about. 

All  the  huddled  Papuan,  Malayan  and  Hindu  bas- 
tard natives  made  a  rush  backwards  into  the  thick 
jungle  groves,  and  then  stuck  their  chins  out  between 
the  thick  dark  leaves,  peering  with  awestruck  eyes, 
half  in  fright  and  half  in  curious  anticipation.  They 
alone  knew  the  true  history  of  Macka 's  connection 
with  the  Koiari  woman  and  of  the  awful  potency  of 
the  sacred  goblet  that  she  held  in  her  outstretched 
hand.  As  for  Macka,  he  stood  transfixed  with  terror. 
His  swarthy  face  had  gone  yellowish-brown !  Indeed, 
as  his  eyes  met  those  of  the  brown  woman,  he  gazed 
with  even  greater  despair  into  the  savage,  still  half- 
beautiful  face  than  he  felt  when  he  gazed  upon  Ulysses. 
Maroshe,  standing  there  by  the  tall  palm,  her  finger 
pointing  towards  the  crescent  moon,  that  looked  like 
a  gold  feather  over  the  mountains,  her  body  clad  in 
the  ornamental  shelled  rami,  looked  the  part  she  had 
come  to  play  in  that  night  drama  by  the  Tomba  Tomba 
ranges.  Her  eyes  shone  like  living  fire.  She  lifted 
her  dusky  face  till  her  chin  stuck  out.  One  hand  held 
the  goblet  slightly  aloft,  with  the  other  hand  she 
pulled  the  wrinkled  skin  of  her  shrunken  bosom  and 
let  it  go  back,  click !  and  looked  sideways  at  Gabrielle 's 
full  white  throat  in  a  meaning  way.  The  venom  of 
her  hatred  for  the  man  before  her  made  her  appear 
terribly  old. 
18 


274          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

Ulysses  stepped  backwards.  He  instinctively  knew 
that  that  weird-looking  woman  had  the  prior  right  to 
deal  with  the  Rajah  at  that  particular  moment.  Step 
by  step  she  approached,  putting  her  knees  far  forward 
in  a  peculiar  way.  Even  the  night  winds  seemed 
hushed;  not  a  leaf  stirred  on  the  tree-tops.  She  had 
begun  the  old  tambu  death  chant.  "Le  rami  lakai 
Putih  se  lao,  darah!  Cowan  ma  saloe!"  she  wailed, 
as  she  chanted  the  words  of  an  eerie  Malayan  fetish 
melody. 

The  crew  of  the  Sea  Foam,  the  natives,  children  and 
feather-head-dressed  chiefs,  all  watched,  spellbound; 
yellowish  faces,  brown  faces,  white  faces  looking  like 
some  dilapidated  collection  of  men  dumped  down  there 
haphazard.  The  Rajah  seemed  the  only  living,  mov- 
able presence ;  his  limbs  shook  violently  as  he  stood  in 
the  Fate-like  presence  of  the  faded,  half-wild  woman 
who  had  come  in  so  dramatically  for  the  final  act. 

She  was  swaying  her  body,  making  mystical  passes 
with  one  hand;  her  voice  trembled  in  an  emotional 
way  as  she  chanted.  The  only  audible  sigh  from  all 
that  watching  throng  came  from  Gabrielle  's  lips.  The 
shells  of  the  Koiari  woman 's  rami  made  a  faint  tinkle- 
tinkle  as  she  moved  another  step  forward. 

Macka  listened.  He  understood  the  meaning  of  that 
mumbling  song  and  heathenish  incantation.  He  did 
not  appeal  for  mercy.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  he 
looked  half  sadly  on  the  faded  beauty  of  the  Koiari 
woman  who  had  once  lain  in  his  arms,  had  felt  the 
passion  of  his  caresses  long  ago.  For  a  moment  she 
stood  perfectly  still  before  him,  not  in  hesitation,  but 
with  a  look  in  her  eyes  as  though  she  would  recall  some 
old  memory  before  she  did  that  which  the  gods  had 
decreed. 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  275 

It  was  only  a  moment 's  respite.  Up  went  her  hand, 
taking  the  goblet  right  up  against  the  Rajah's  chin 
quite  gently,  as  though  she  would  bid  him  drink  once 
again  of  some  old  love-token — before  he  died!  She 
tossed  her  hand  up,  very  carefully,  so  that  there 
should  be  no  mistake — she  had  thrown  the  contents  of 
the  goblet ! 

The  terribly  potent  vitriol  smoked  on  his  face ! 

A  cry  of  horror  went  up  from  Ulysses '  lips  and  from 
all  the  watching  crew.  The  natives  yelled  out  in 
anguish.  Even  the  mangy  Papuan  tribal  dog,  sitting 
close  to  the  idol's  wooden  feet,  lifted  its  nose  to  the 
crescent  moon  and  howled.  The  sight  of  the  Rajah's 
eyes  had  gone !  Standing  there,  blind,  his  face  seared 
with  fire,  the  fumes  from  the  goblet  issuing  from  the 
top  of  his  tilted  turban  and  rising  in  a  shivering 
vapour  to  the  palms  above  his  head,  he  made  a  terrible 
picture!  He  violently  clapped  his  hands  to  his  face. 
He  began  to  dance  in  a  wild  frenzy.  His  mind  wras 
shattered  with  pain.  He  jumped  and  jumped,  stamp- 
ing on  the  ground  as  though  he  would  crush  his  very 
soul  out  with  his  feet. 

Notwithstanding  all  that  the  man  had  done  to  Hil- 
lary the  young  apprentice  felt  some  sympathy  for  the 
afflicted  Rajah.  It  was  so  unexpected.  Ulysses,  who 
had  sworn  to  do  so  much  when  he  had  Macka  in  his 
grasp,  re-echoed  the  horror,  the  murmur  that  went  up 
from  the  huddled,  onlooking  crew.  And  no  wonder, 
for  as  they  watched  a  woman's  scream  of  anguish 
echoed  to  the  mountains.  In  a  moment  they  all  moved 
back  as  the  Rajah,  hearing  that  scream,  put  his  hand 
forth  in  mute  appeal.  lie  heard  the  sympathetic  wail 
in  that  blood-curdling  cry.  The  final  act  of  the  terrible 
drama,  enacted  before  Ulysses  and  his  crew,  was 


276          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON" 

strangely  in  harmony  with  its  wild  setting.  None 
expected  that  final  act,  the  thrilling  exit  from  the  stage 
when  Maroshe  the  Koiari  woman  forgave  and  became 
united  to  the  Rajah!  Mango  Pango  jumped  with 
fright  and  clutched  Bilbao's  arm.  "Saver  me,  poor 
Mango, ' '  she  wailed.  Bilbao  dispelled  the  tense  silence 
by  yelling  out :  ' '  By  thunder ! ' ' 

The  hollow-eyed  mate  stood  like  a  spectre  of  misery 
who  saw  retribution  ahead  as  he  lifted  his  shrunken 
hands  and  stared  upward  at  the  stars. 

The  hubbub  of  the  cowardly  natives  had  suddenly 
ceased  as  they  too  watched  Macka's  exit  from  his  old 
life.  Gabrielle  clutched  Hillary  in  fear ;  indeed,  every 
onlooker  drew  in  a  mighty  breath  as  they  saw  them  go 
— Macka,  a  blind,  groping  figure,  looking  like  some 
demon  of  the  night  flying  onward,  and  shouting  in 
his  Malayan  tongue,  one  hand  waving  in  the  air, 
Maroshe  clinging  to  his  other  arm.  They  were  re- 
united at  last,  and  she  was  leading  him  away  to  watch 
over  him  in  his  eternal  darkness. 

For  quite  twenty  seconds  Ulysses  and  all  the  crew 
stared  after  them. 

By  now  the  cowardly  natives,  who  had  sought  to  give 
no  help  to  one  of  their  own  kind,  had  begun  their 
infernal  hubbub  and  were  clamouring  round  Ulysses, 
begging  for  the  several  bribes  he  had  promised  should 
they  lead  him  to  the  place  where  the  Rajah  had  taken 
the  white  girl. 

Bilbao,  who  had  lived  with  the  natives  from  Dampier 
Strait  to  Sarawak,  Borneo,  knew  they  were  a  treacher- 
ous lot  and  liable  to  turn  on  him  and  his  scanty  crew 
at  any  moment,  so  he  was  anxious  to  get  back  to  the 
Sea  Foam.  He  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 
His  voice  was  almost  gentle  as  he  turned  to  Hillary 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  277 

and  Gabrielle  and  said,  with  evidently  simulated  calm : 
"I  say,  we'd  better  clear  out  of  this  at  once."  Then 
he  turned  to  the  crew : ' '  Hurry  up,  boys ;  let 's  get  back 
to  the  boats.  The  sallow  mate,  who  had  fallen  down 
in  a  kind  of  fit,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  stood  swaying  like 
a  branch  in  a  wind  as  he  brushed  the  dust  from  his 
brass-bound,  peaked  cap. 

In  a  moment  Hillary,  Gabrielle,  Mango  Pango  and 
the  crew  had  started  off,  hurrying  down  the  track  as 
Ulysses  led  the  way;  the  natives  came  clamouring 
behind  them,  whirling  and  humming  in  guttural  ap- 
peals like  bunches  of  monstrous  two-legged  stalk-flies. 

It  all  seemed  like  a  wonderful  dream  to  Hillary  as 
Gabrielle  once  more  walked  by  his  side,  her  hair  blow- 
ing against  his  face.  Even  dusky  Mango  Pango  had  a 
shadowy  look  as  she  clung  to  Gabrielle 's  arm,  her  broad 
showy  yellow  sash  blowing  out  behind  her  as  the  two 
girls  kept  close  to  the  heels  of  the  hurrying  crew. 

11  Don't  tremble,  dear.  I've  come,  you  see.  I 
never  thought  to  see  you  again,"  said  Hillary,  as  he 
realised  that  he  did  not  move  through  a  shadow  world 
of  phantoms  and  dreams. 

"I  knew  you'd  come,"  said  Gabrielle,  as  she  looked 
him  in  the  eyes. 

Hillary  half  noticed  that  strange  look  of  her  in  the 
hurry  and  bustle  of  the  flight  back  to  the  boats — a 
bustle  and  hurry  that  Gabrielle  appreciated.  At  last 
they  arrived  on  the  beach.  In  a  moment  the  natives 
who  were  waiting  paddled  their  canoes  to  the  shore. 
A  tremendous  hubbub  had  begun  just  behind  them. 
What  was  it? 

Gabrielle  gasped  as  she  heard  that  loud,  terrible 
voice  yelling  from  far  off:  "Butih  Bunga,  my  kali 
bini!" 


278          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

It  was  the  enraged  voice  of  old  bapa  (Macka's 
father)  hurrying  through  the  jungle,  lie  wanted  to 
know  where  his  son  was,  and  so  he  called  aloud  for  the 
beautiful  white  wife  (putih  bini). 

The  natives  whom  Ulysses  had  bribed  had  rushed 
straight  away  to  Macka's  people  and  told  them  all 
that  had  occurred. 

"Hurry  up,  you  damned  niggers,"  yelled  Ulysses, 
as  he  looked  behind  him.  He  was  busy  undoing  the 
knotted  tackle  that  held  the  ship 's  boat. 

"Now  we  shan't  be  long!"  he  said,  as  he  gave  a  low 
whistle.  For  he  had  spotted  the  huddled  masses  of 
dusky  figures  who  had  just  rushed  out  of  the  forest  of 
mahogany-trees,  as  old  bapa  drove  them  on,  keeping 
warily  behind  them!  Old  bapa  could  distinctly  be 
seen  waving  his  arms  as  he  came  into  sight  just  round 
the  edge  of  the  belt  of  mangroves;  he  was  following 
closely  behind  the  heathen  horde  who  were  rushing 
down  to  the  beach.  From  the  loud  shouts,  and  the 
courage  of  the  pursuers,  it  was  every  evident  that  old 
bapa  was  yelling  forth  mighty  promises  of  prizes  for 
those  who  could  clutch  hold  of  the  Rajah's  putih  bini. 

"  Jump  into  the  boat,  never  mind  me,"  whispered 
Hillary.  In  a  moment  Gabrielle  was  safely  sitting 
just  behind  Mango  Pango  in  the  ship's  one  boat,  as 
the  rest  of  the  crew  embarked  in  the  unstable  canoes 
in  which  they  had  come  ashore. 

Hillary  and  Ulysses  still  stood  on  the  shore.  As  the 
apprentice  turned  his  head  he  saw  a  dusky  Papuan 
crouch  down  by  the  reefs  just  up  the  shore.  Swish ! 
A  spear  was  thrown. 

"Crack!  crack!"  Hillary  had  fired  his  revolver 
to  make  sure.  He  was  taking  no  risks.  Old  bapa's 
voice  was  still  shouting  lustily,  till  his  words  echoed 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  279 

in  the  mountains:  "Putih  bini!  The  Rajah's  beauti- 
ful bunga  bini!"  And  though  the  top  of  the  dusky 
Papuan's  head  had  been  blown  off,  and  Ulysses  had 
given  a  muffled  oath  and  told  Hillary  to  jump  into 
the  canoe  and  not  stand  there  on  the  beach  writing 
poetry,  those  dreadful  words  echoed  in  the  young  ap- 
prentice's brain — for  he  knew  the  meaning  of  them. 

Hillary,  recovering  his  mental  equilibrium,  turned 
to  embark,  and  was  helped  by  a  shove  from  the  irri- 
tated Ulysses  into  the  canoe. 

In  a  moment  the  paddles  were  splashing.  They  were 
off!  The  covey  of  canoes  shot  out  into  the  silent 
waters  of  the  forest-locked  bay !  In  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  they  had  all  safely  reached  the  decks  of  the 
hospitable  Sea  Foam. 

' '  Clear  off,  you  niggers, ' '  said  Ulysses,  as  the  clam- 
ouring natives  received  payment  for  the  job  in  tins 
of  condensed  milk,  sugar,  tea  and  tobacco  plug.  But 
still  they  clamoured  for  more!  In  no  time  Ulysses 
had  picked  up  a  deck  broom  and  cleared  them  over 
the  side,  back  into  their  canoes.  In  less  than  an  hour 
the  Sea  Foam  was  stealing  along  the  coast  to  the 
north-west. 

It  appeared  that  Samuel  Bilbao  had  got  wind  that 
the  North  German  steamer  Lubeck  was  about  due  from 
Apia,  bound  for  the  ports  of  German  New  Guinea 
along  the  western  coast.  The  Sea  Foam  was  right  dead 
in  the  trading  course.  He  was  anxious  to  get  Hillary 
and  Gabrielle  off  the  Sea  Foam  in  case  of  trouble. 
Ulysses  was  no  fool:  he  well  knew  that  the  original 
skipper  of  the  Sea  Foam  would  not  stagnate  in  Bou- 
gainville, but  would  make  a  hue-and-cry  and  seek 
Government  help  to  trace  the  whereabouts  of  his  vessel. 
Bilbao  loved  liberty,  and  the  idea  of  languishing  for 


280          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

five  or  ten  years  in  some  island  calaboose  (jail)  or  in 
Darlinghurst,  New  South  Wales,  a  punishment  that 
would  not  be  out  of  place  in  the  verdict  of  the  kindest 
judge  and  jury  extant,  made  him  anxious  to  seek  the 
outer  seas.  Consequently,  before  dawn  the  Sea  Foam 
once  more  dropped  anchor,  under  the  cover  of  dark, 
some  miles  to  the  east  of  Astrolabe  Bay. 

"Come  along,  boy,  now's  yer  chance.  Bring  the 
gal  forward,"  said  Ulysses,  as  he  put  his  hand  to  his 
brow  and  scanned  the  sea  horizon. 

"What's  the  matter?"  whispered  Gabrielle,  as  she 
stepped  forward,  half  recovering  from  the  stupor  that 
had  made  her  fall  asleep  as  she  had  sobbed  in  Hillary 's 
arms  under  the  awning  aft.  Hillary,  who  had  hardly 
spoken  a  word  to  her  during  the  three  hours  they  had 
been  on  board  the  Sea  Foam,  said :  ' '  We  are  going  to 
leave  the  Sea  Foam.  Our  friend  here  has  got  to  fly, 
to  go  a  voyage  that  we  cannot  take. ' '  Hillary  said  no 
more.  He  could  not  very  well  explain  to  the  girl, 
especially  in  her  distressed  condition,  how  Samuel 
Bilbao  had  obtained  possession  of  the  Sea  Foam  and 
that  now  that  Gabrielle  had  been  rescued  from  the 
kidnapper,  Macka,  he  must  sail  her  to  remote  isles 
where  he  could  strand  her,  make  a  bolt,  or  do  anything 
he  liked  except  go  back  to  Bougainville.  Indeed, 
Ulysses,  Hillary  and  the  bilious,  haunted  mate  had 
planned  the  whole  programme  before  they  had  first 
dropped  anchor  off  Tumba-Tumba.  Ulysses  knew  that 
Hillary  could  easily  obtain  a  passage  from  Astrolabe 
Bay  for  the  Admiralty  Isles,  and  then  again  ship  for 
Bougainville.  And  so  it  happened  that  at  the  first 
flush  of  dawn,  when  all  the  stars  were  taking  flight, 
Samuel  Bilbao  put  forth  his  big  hand  and  gripped 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  281 

Hillary  affectionately  by  the  wrist:  "Farewell,  pal; 
good  luck  to  ye." 

"Good-bye,  Bilbao;  and  may  good  luck  come  to 
you,"  said  Hillary,  with  deep  meaning  and  sincerity 
in  his  voice  as  he  looked  into  the  clear  eyes  of  the 
Homeric  sailorman. 

"Awaie!  O  le  Sona  Gaberlel,"  wailed  sad  Mango 
Pango,  as  she  threw  her  arms  affectionately  round  the 
white  girl 's  neck.  She  had  known  Gabrielle  as  a  child 
in  Bougainville.  For  a  moment  the  two  girls  wept. 
It  was  a  strange  sight  to  see  Mango  Pango 's  brown 
arms  entwined  with  Gabrielle 's  white  arms  as  they 
bade  each  other  farewell  and  wept  together.  They 
were  only  girls  after  all.  Then  the  mate  crept  out  of 
the  shadows  of  the  awning  aft ;  he  had  worried  so  much 
over  his  share  in  stealing  the  Sea  Foam  and  in  helping 
to  install  Ulysses  as  skipper,  and  he  had  so  reduced  his 
frame,  that  he  seemed  to  consist  only  of  clothes  and 
bones,  a  veritable  skeleton  of  sorrow  with  a  cheese- 
cutter  cap  on  its  skull.  ' '  Farewell,  for  ever,  friends ; 
farewell!"  he  almost  sobbed,  as  his  bones  creaked. 
At  hearing  that  melancholy  voice,  Samuel  Bilbao,  in 
his  thunderous,  inconsequential  style,  gave  a  loud 
guffaw  and  brought  his  fist  down  with  wonderful  ar- 
tistic gentleness  on  the  mate's  bowed  form.  Had 
Ulysses  struck  the  mate  with  his  usual  forcible  exuber- 
ance he  would  have  surely  doubled  up  as  though  he 
were  no  more  than  a  bit  of  muslin  wrapped  round  an 
upright  skeleton. 

Then  Ulysses  gently  took  hold  of  Gabrielle 's  hand 
and  said :  "  I  knew  yer  brave  old  father  years  ago ! ' ' 
Then  he  added:  "Good-bye,  girl;  he's  a  good  boy, 
he  is." 

Hillary  felt  truly  sorry  to  say  farewell  to  that 


282          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

strange  man  of  the  seas.  Samuel  Bilbao  still  held  the 
girl 's  hand.  His  voice  had  gone  as  tender  as  the  girl 's. 
And  Mango  Pango  's  eyes  looked  very  fierce  as  Ulysses, 
stooping  forward,  bent  one  knee  with  a  massive  gal- 
lantry that  belonged  to  another  age: 

"Farewell,  Miss  Gabrielle;  farewell!" 

Even  the  huddled  crew  seemed  to  come  under  the 
spell  of  Bilbao 's  personality  as  the  first  pallid  hint  of 
dawn  swept  across  the  seas.  A  hot  wind  from  the 
inland  forests  on  the  starboard  side  stirred  Ulysses' 
magnificent  moustache  as  he  slowly  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  with  his  hand  arched  over  his  clear  blue  eyes  stared 
seaward.  Then  he  lifted  his  dilapidated  helmet-hat. 
The  soft  sea  winds  fluttered  the  bronze-hued  curls  that 
hung  like  an  insignia  of  chivalry  over  Ms  lofty  brow. 
With  a  magnificent  gesture  he  gently  pulled  the  dis- 
hevelled golden  head  towards  his  big  bosom,  then 
softly  kissed  Gabrielle 's  upturned  face  as  though  he 
had  loved  her  a  thousand  years  ago,  and  now,  once 
again,  they  must  part,  each  going  their  separate  ways. 

Gabrielle  couldn't  help  coming  under  the  influence 
of  that  extraordinary  man :  she  too  felt  a  definite  sor- 
row over  the  parting.  And  as  she  looked  up  into  the 
flushed,  honest  countenance,  half  in  wonder  at  her  own 
thoughts,  and  caught  one  glimpse  from  those  fine  eyes, 
she  saw  the  real  Ulysses — all  that  he  might  have  been. 

''Captain,  it's  a-getting  loight,  dye's  a-coming!" 
came  like  a  rasp  from  the  Cockney  seaman.  But  even 
that  voice  could  hardly  break  the  romance  of  the  fare- 
well scene. 

Then  a  mist  seemed  to  come  over  the  silent  world 
as  Ulysses,  standing  like  a  giant  on  deck  amidst  his 
wondering  crew,  dissolved  into  the  shadows. 

"Dip,  dip,"  went  the  splashing  oars  as  Gabrielle 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  283 

and  Hillary  looked  into  each  other's  eyes.  They  were 
in  the  ship's  boat  being  rowed  hurriedly  ashore  at 
Aufurao. 

Half-an-hour  after  they  both  stood  on  the  beach  of 
a  strange,  desolate  land.  Sunrise  had  just  begun  to 
throw  ineffable  hues  over  the  mountain  peaks  just 
behind  them.  Once  more  they  stared  seaward  and 
saw  the  Sea  Foam  fading  away  on  the  wine-dark  seas, 
the  sails  fast  disappearing  like  a  grey  bird,  taking 
Ulysses,  his  remorseful  mate  and  crew,  and  laughing 
Mango  Pango,  beyond  the  horizon,  out  of  sight,  far 
from  their  aching,  watching  eyes. 

It  was  a  wild  god-forsaken  spot  where  Hillary  and 
Gabrielle  found  themselves  stranded.  They  were  miles 

away  from  A ,  where  a  scanty  population  of  white 

men,  half-a-dozen  in  all,  owned  copra,  coffee  and  sugar 
plantations.  But  though  it  was  the  wildest  spot  in  the 
whole  of  New  Guinea,  the  young  apprentice  preferred 
it  to  any  other.  Even  the  great  loneliness,  that  seemed 
to  come  out  of  the  wide,  endless  seas  into  which  the 
Sea  Foam  had  faded,  was  more  welcome  than  his 
own  thoughts. 

"Come  on,  Gabrielle,"  he  said,  as  he  sighed,  and 
looked  seaward.  He  thought  how  he  was  seeing  the 
great  world  with  a  vengeance,  reaping  life 's  full  meed 
of  romance  and  sorrow.  He  realised  how  one  by  one 
his  old  ideals  had  disappeared,  receding  into  the  past 
like  frightened  birds.  But  who  can  tell  what  thoughts 
haunted  the  young  apprentice  as  the  tropic  sun  blazed 
over  the  wild  coast  of  New  Guinea  and  as  Gabrielle, 
exhausted,  slept  beneath  the  mountain  trees. 

As  she  lay  there  in  the  leafy  glooms  of  the  dwarf 
ivory-nut  palms,  he  looked  down  on  her  sleeping  face 


284          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

till  the  soft-lashed  eyelids  seemed  to  be  two  tiny 
graves  wherein  lay  buried  all  the  purest  passion  of 
his  dreams. 

Up  in  the  tall,  dark-green-fingered  palms  a  strange 
yellow  iris  bird  was  singing.  And  it  seemed  to  him 
that  it  had  come  to  serenade  him  in  his  loneliness  and 
whistle  some  hope  into  his  heart.  Then  it  flew  away, 
and  he,  too,  lay  down  and  slept  till  once  more  the  great 
tropic  night  crept  with  stars  over  that  wild,  god- 
forsaken forest  coast.  He  heard  the  call  of  the  red- 
wings in  the  jungle  and  the  forest  that  ran  sheer  to  the 
rugged  mountains  that  overlooked  the  shore.  It 
seemed  that  he  and  she  dwelt  alone  in  all  that  primitive 
world  of  sombre  forest  lands  and  interminable  gullies. 

"Gabrielle,  we  must  get  away  from  here,"  he  said, 
as  she  stood  beside  him  trembling.  She  had  just  awak- 
ened from  a  dream  that  had  given  her  Hillary's  love 
and  the  security  of  civilisation  far  from  the  unreal 
world  of  jungle  that  met  her  eyes. 

' '  Come  on,  Gabrielle. ' '  The  girl  took  his  hand  like 
an  obedient  child,  and  then  walked  with  him  out  on 
to  the  reefs  where  the  waves  came  hurrying  in,  tossing 
their  white,  foamy  hands  by  the  caves  and  coral  bars. 
Neither  spoke  one  word  about  the  arranged  trip  up 
the  coast  to  the  settlements,  and  of  the  Lubeck,  N.G.L. 
steamer,  and  all  that  Ulysses  had  so  carefully  planned, 
so  that  they  might  not  be  stranded  on  that  dreadful, 
fever-stricken  coast.  It  seemed  that  they  had  read 
each  other's  souls  and  by  instinctive  communion  stood 
there  caring  not  where  their  steps  might  take  them  so 
long  as  they  were  together. 

As  they  stood  there  at  the  edge  of  the  promontory, 
beneath  the  bright  stars,  Hillary  half  imagined  he 
stood  again  on  the  old  hulk  off  Bougainville;  the  two 


IN  NEW  GUINEA  285 

dead  screw-pines  ahead  of  them  looked  just  like  the 
rotting  masts  of  an  old  wreck. 

' '  Come  nearer,  dearest, ' '  said  the  young  apprentice, 
just  as  he  had  done  on  the  derelict  hulk.  Then  he  said : 
"Gabrielle,  don't  cry,  dearest.  I  love  you  with  all 
my  heart  and  soul.  I  realise  now  how  you  must  have 
felt  that  night  on  the  old  hulk  off  Bougainville,  when 
you  wanted  me  to  jump  into  the  sea  and  die  with  you. ' ' 

He  pulled  her  softly  towards  him,  rained  impas- 
sioned kisses  on  her  mouth  and  once  more  looked  down 
into  the  depths  of  her  eyes.  Their  lips  met  again  and 
again.  He  placed  his  fingers  in  the  folds  of  her  glorious 
hair  and  breathed  the  music  of  his  soul  into  her  ears. 

Like  some  herald  of  a  phantom  day,  a  great  radiance 
flushed  the  horizon — it  was  the  moon  rising  far  out  to 
sea.  It  was  then  that  Hillary  looked  into  the  girl's 
eyes  and  said  tenderly:  "Is  this  to  be  the  end, 
dearest?" 

"  I  '11  go  anywhere  with  you, ' '  said  Gabrielle. 

A  soft  drift  of  wind  came  across  the  hot  seas,  ruffled 
the  glassy  deep  swell  of  the  ocean,  blowing  Gabrielle 's 
tresses  out  as  she  stood  there.  Nor  did  the  torn  blue 
blouse,  the  dilapidated  shoes  and  her  jungle-scratched 
face  impair  her  beauty. 

Gabrielle  simply  pressed  her  lips  to  his  and  re- 
peated :  ' '  I  '11  go  wherever  you  go. ' ' 

It  was  not  till  then  that  Hillary  realised  the  sound- 
ness of  Ulysses'  advice.  A  moment  before  in  his 
dreamy,  melancholy  mood  he  had  thought  of  putting 
out  to  sea  with  Gabrielle  in  an  old  canoe  which  he  had 
found  among  the  reefs.  It  would  make  so  romantic 
a  climax  to  their  adventure:  he  had  thought  of  the 
mysterious  and  wonderful  shores  on  which  they  might 
find  themselves  driven  by  the  sea,  without  chart  or 


286          GABRIELLE  OF  THE  LAGOON 

compass.  Gabrielle  said  she  would  go  wherever  he 
went.  Well,  after  all,  they  would  make  their  way  to 
the  small  white  settlement,  and  see  what  turned  up 
then.  Hillary  would  probably  be  able  to  find  a  ship  to 
take  him  and  Gabrielle  away.  And  then — and  then. 

He  turned  again  to  the  girl  who  was  still  staring 
out  to  sea. 

"Are  you  ready?"  he  said,  rousing  himself.  "For 
it  seems  to  me  the  first  thing  we've  got  to  do  is  a  good 
long  tramp.  That  '11  bring  us  to  the  settlement.  Don 't 
you  want  to  see  people  who  are  more  or  less  civilised 
once  again?" 

"Of  course  I  do.  But  when  you  said  that  about 
going  away  with  you  wherever  you  went,  I  thought — 
I  thought  you  meant "  She  hesitated 

"Oh!  so  you  thought  that,"  said  HiUary.  "Well, 
never  mind.  Come,  we  ought  to  make  a  move.  And 
as  we  go  you  can  tell  me  of  everything  that's  hap- 
pened." His  face  darkened.  "Gabrielle,"  he  added 
a  moment  later,  "you  know  that  I  always  believed 
in  you. ' ' 

"Yes,"  she  added  simply.  "And — and,  Hillary, 
thank  God  you  were  in  time  to  rescue  me  from  that 
Rajah  Macka.  Oh,  if  you  had  been  too  late ! " 

Hillary  for  a  moment  turned  away,  his  eyes  wet 
with  emotion.  He  had  feared  such  unutterable  things. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  his  voice  hardly  steady;  "thank 
God,  we  were  in  time.  What  an  adventure  it  has  been. 
But  now  everything  seems  to  have  come  right  again. 
And  I've  got  you  for  always,  haven't  I?"  he  added. 
And  the  wind,  singing  in  the  palms,  drifted  a  tress  of 
GabrieHe  's  hair  against  his  face  as  they  stood  there  gaz- 
ing on  the  great  moonlit  ocean  before  them. 


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